


Soul-Eater

by greerian



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Falling In Love, Life's Not Fair, M/M, Panic Attack, Prayer, Secrets, Sex for Favors, Squicky Situations, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:31:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5335865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerian/pseuds/greerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Shame is a soul-eating emotion." - Carl Jung</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for full list of triggers and some spoilers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, sacrifices must be made.

“It’s all going to work out,” Elder Price tells Elder McKinley, pressed uncomfortably close as they are on the bus to Kampala. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

McKinley scoffs. “I don’t know where you’ve been, Elder, but I let my pride and ambition determine my decisions, which led to the heretical baptism of more villagers than any mission in Uganda has ever achieved. Unless falsehood, pride, and misinterpretation of the fundamental doctrines of our religion aren’t _wrong_ to you, I think you may be incorrect.”

Elder Price sighs. “See, you’re looking at it from the wrong perspective,” he says. “If you think you’ve done something awful, you’ll present it to the mission president that way. You need to focus on the good parts. You finally got in with the villagers, didn’t you? Arnold got through to them. As district leader, you were simply overwhelmed with the increase of interest, and so missed some of the new methods of sharing that Arnold used. That’s all.”

Elder McKinley purses his lips. “Do you really think that will work?”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“It sounds a lot better than what we did,” he admits. He looks out the dirt-coated window beside him instead of at Elder Price; it’s easier not to face him at such a close distance.

“The truth is still the truth, whether it sounds nice or not,” Elder Price replies. It’s more than a bit philosophical for him, but it’s his tone that Elder McKinley doesn’t understand. He’s too quiet, far too quiet.

“Is something wrong, Elder Price?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees him smile.

“I’m just fine, Elder McKinley.”

*****

Elder McKinley makes his case to the mission president. The man doesn’t seem impressed, and Elder McKinley feels his heart fall in his chest.

“Excuse me, sir?” Elder Price suddenly says the first words out of his mouth since he introduced himself, almost an hour ago. “May I ask you something?”

The man nods imperiously. “Go ahead, Elder Price.”

Price’s eyes flick to Elder McKinley. “Privately?”

McKinley sends him a curious look, _this wasn’t part of the plan,_ but the mission president just raises his eyebrows and says “Elder McKinley, if you would?”

“Oh, um, of course,” he says, fumbling to his feet and out the door.

Elder Price firmly closes the door behind him.

*****

Twenty minutes go by, Elder McKinley shifting anxiously in the uncomfortable plastic chair outside the mission president’s office, before Elder Price comes out. Elder McKinley jumps to his feet, ready to go back in, but he just shakes his head and heads towards the front doors. There are tears in eyes, it seems, and his lips are red, like he’s been biting them, and McKinley fears the worst.

“What happened?” he asks, hurriedly catching up with him. “Are you okay?”

Elder Price nods, wiping his mouth, but otherwise he doesn’t answer.

“Elder Price!” McKinley grabs his arm, just as they leave the building. The blinding sunlight makes them both wince.

“We’re going to be just fine, Elder McKinley,” he says; his voice is hoarse. “We’re on probation for the next six months. I have to give a verbal report once a month until then, but if we do everything by the book, we’ll be okay.”

“We’ll be back in the church?” McKinley asks, breathless with hope.

Elder Price nods.

McKinley keeps himself from hugging him only because he knows they could still be seen through the windows of the LDS temple behind them. “Oh, gosh, Elder Price, thank you so much! Whatever you said, I can’t thank you enough for it.”

Elder Price’s lips quirk up just a bit at the edges. “You’re welcome,” he replies.

*****

Maybe Elder McKinley shouldn’t be surprised that the good news is determined to be enough cause for a party, but he is shocked at how quickly everything comes together. He and Elder Price arrive sometime before noon, and by seven o’clock that evening, church members from Kitguli and the surrounding villages begin to flock to the small mission hut, collectively bringing enough food for an army, and the elders welcome them with open arms.

They have to borrow chairs from every member’s house to get enough seats for everyone, but eventually they’ve got a big open space, surrounded by chairs, so that everyone can see each other, and plates of food covering the porch. After almost everyone has eaten their fill, Elder McKinley joyously leads them in a resounding chorus of “Come, Rejoice” (which doesn’t go so well) and a slightly-modified-to-fit-LDS-doctrine “Amazing Grace” (which surprisingly does), and then the Ugandans start playing some music of their own. It’s inspired by Arnold’s parables, so some of the stories make Elder McKinley blush, but it’s fun music, and it has a much better beat than the hymns. Some of the members of the church, led by Naba and her father, grab the elders and teach them some traditional dances, laughing as they stumble through the energetic moves. Elder McKinley takes to it pretty quickly, and has a wonderful time dancing with Sister Kimbay (who can seriously throw down, let him tell you). He excuses himself about half-way through, laughing at his companion as Gotswana tries to teach him how to roll his hips, to go get some water, as he had been too busy getting things in place to actually eat much at dinner.

He gingerly steps over and around the dishes littering the porch, sighing in relief when he makes it to the kitchen without accidentally planting his foot in one. Just as he opens the cabinet to get a glass, however, he hears something, coming from the hallway. He stops. The sounds repeats; he wrinkles his nose. It’s the telltale sound of someone losing their dinner. He heads towards the bathroom, intending to knock and ask if whoever it is inside needs medical attention, but he stops at the sight of Elder Price, hunched over the toilet.

“Oh gosh, Elder, are you all right?” he asks, hesitating in the doorway. Maybe four days of travel in a crowded bus and a party are too much at once.

“Fine,” Elder Price spits, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m fine. Just the heat.”

Elder McKinley winces sympathetically. As the only red-headed elder, he has the unique burden of being the most susceptible to the effects of heat, and he’s spent a few too many days nauseous and miserable to not understand exactly how Elder Price feels.

“Would you like some water?”

But Elder Price just shakes his head again, curling up miserably against the wall.

“All right… Well, when you feel well enough, please come back and join us. I still need to tell everyone you convinced the mission president to give us a second chance, and it just won’t do to have you stuck in here for that, would it?” He’s trying for cheerful, but Elder Price doesn’t respond.

*****

Elder Price is strangely quiet for the following month. Elder McKinley chalks it up to him observing so that he can provide a proper report to the mission president. He never takes any notes, so he assumes that Elder Price is expected to have everything memorized.

It could also be him coming to terms with his new-found humility. Pride goeth before a fall, and in Elder Price’s case the fall was a rather nasty one. So Elder McKinley gives him his space, letting him be sometimes when he feels the urge to ask how he’s doing, if everything is going well with his companion and his work. Elder Price is an independent soul; too much pushing will only make him withdraw more. Besides, there’s a pretty big chance that his unusual silence is all in Elder McKinley’s head. He refuses to offend Elder Price because of something he’s projecting.

Social minefields aside, however, Elder McKinley is delighted when Elder Price trusts him enough to ask for a request from the market: bananas.

“Bananas?” he echoes, smiling a little. “Of course, Elder, if you want some, but may I ask why?” They’re not exactly a special treat, but sometimes the district’s budget won’t allow for anything other than the most basic of necessities, so bananas don’t always make it into the pantry.

Elder Price gives him a half-hearted grin. “I’ve been having cramps lately,” he says. “I guess I need some potassium.”

He brushes off McKinley’s well-meaning asks of ‘are you all right?’, saying that’s he doing just fine and he really needs to get back to work, and turns sharply on his heel before heading back outside to where Arnold is patiently waiting.

Elder McKinley makes sure to buy plenty of bananas.

*****

Elder Price insists almost fervently that Elder McKinley be the one to accompany him back to Kampala, so for the second time in a month he finds himself pressed up between a filthy window and a sinfully beautiful elder; McKinley doesn’t know whether to curse God or thank Him (jokingly, of course; he would _never_ curse God, not even for allowing him to be tempted by Kevin Price).

But it’s always nice to be in air-conditioning again, and he basks in the relief from the oppressive heat as Elder Price delivers his report. It’s much easier to enjoy when he doesn’t have the weight of his district’s fate resting entirely on his shoulders.

Maybe he should be anxious; these reports are supposed to determine their fate. But when Elder Price comes out, almost half an hour later, red-faced but smiling, he can’t find himself to care. Elder Price is going to fix things. There’s nothing to worry about.

“How’d it go?” he asks, falling in step beside him. “He didn’t run you through the wringer too much, did he?”

Elder Price shakes his head.

“Well. I have to say, I’m very grateful, Elder Price. I don’t think we would have a district to go back to now if it weren’t for you.”

A soft “thanks” is all he gets in response.

*****

The pattern repeats itself again the following month; Elder Price is too quiet, and he begs Elder McKinley to come with him to Kampala. McKinley tries to push down his worry, but turning it off doesn’t work nearly as well for him as it used to, and when Elder Price bursts out of the mission president’s office and makes a beeline for the bathroom, he can only follow him and hope that he’s not too late to help.

“Elder Price?” he calls, following him into the bathroom. The sound of retching echoes from the only closed stall. “Elder Price, what’s wrong?”

From the other side of the flimsy plastic wall, he hears “I’m fine, Elder McKinley.” It’s far too weak to be believable.

“Elder Price, are you sure you shouldn’t see a doctor? We can have Gotswana look you over.”

“It’s unnecessary,” he replies, unlocking the door. He comes to the sink, and splashes his face with water, but all Elder McKinley can see when he looks up is how pale he is. His eyes are red, too, like he’s been crying.

“Then what’s wrong?” McKinley asks. “You can’t just say that you’re fine, Elder. I’m worried about you.”

Elder Price tries to smile. “It’s nothing, really. It’s… I told him about Sister Kalimba’s husband today.”

 _Oh._ The man shot by the general on Elder Price’s first day.

Elder McKinley looks away.

“I’m sorry, Elder,” he offers. He knows for a fact he didn’t treat that situation well, and now it seems Elder Price is the one suffering for it.

“Hey, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Elder Price lays a warm hand on his shoulder, and when he glances up, he sees that the man is almost smiling for real this time. “I’m doing just fine.”

*****

But he’s not. He really, really isn’t, and it becomes more and more obvious as time goes on. He grows pale, and thin, and his shirts hang off of his broad shoulders like they would off of a scarecrow. And he’s quiet… so quiet, it’s easy to forget he’s in the room sometimes. It’s like he’s folding in on himself where he used to command attention. He’s someone completely different from the man who first arrived in Uganda, ready to change the world, and it hurts Elder McKinley to watch.

Every time he asks, though, the only answer he receives is “I’m fine, Elder,” so he pours his concerns into prayers that never seem to help.

_Please, Heavenly Father, heal him._

_Please, Heavenly Father, bring back Elder Price._

_Please, Heavenly Father, let him trust me._

_Heavenly Father… thy will be done._

*****

The ride to Kampala, three months in, is silent and awkward. Elder McKinley doesn’t know what to say. How do you talk to someone who never tells the truth? He doesn’t think even Elder Price believes what he’s saying, now. But he can’t push, it’s too late for that, so he’s left fighting not to cry over the ghost of Elder Price forced against his side on the long bus ride.

*****

Something’s different when they arrive this time. The mission president is waiting outside his office, smiling beneficently at the two of them.

“Elder Price, it’s good to see you,” he says, condescendingly. “Are you ready?”

“No, sir,” he replies meekly. McKinley turns to him in shock. A different person he may be, but Elder Price is never meek.

The man hums in displeasure. “You have five minutes, then,” he says, and Elder Price slips away. “Elder McKinley, I’m afraid Elder Price and I are going to be a little late today, at least forty-five minutes, so here’s a few dollars; go buy a treat for your district.” He presses a five dollar bill into Elder McKinley’s hand and escorts him to the door. “No need to rush, Elder,” he says. “Elder Price and I are going to need some time to ourselves.”

 _What have the last few meetings been, then?_ he wants to ask.

Instead he goes out and doesn’t buy anything, waiting for Elder Price.

*****

He comes back precisely forty-five minutes later to find Elder Price slumped in his usual chair. He looks exhausted.

“Elder Price?” McKinley says, resting a hand on his shoulder.

He shakes it off. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Elder Price, are you-”

“I’m fine.” But he smiles, and it’s the closest thing to genuine Elder McKinley has seen from him in months. So he pretends not to see how much slower than usual Elder Price is walking, and how the bumps on the bus ride back make him wince, like every muscle in his body is sore.

There was a time before Uganda, before Elder Price, when Elder McKinley would wake up aching, tension building from day to day and manifesting in his shoulders, his hips, his chest. He’d thought he was dying until his doctor gave him a sympathetic look and a diagnosis: generalized anxiety disorder, and he’d been able to breathe freely for the first time in months.

He can’t make himself ask if Elder Price feels the same way, like the world is against him and he can’t let his guard down, not for anything, but he thinks, as Elder Price bites his lip at a particularly large jolt, that he may be beginning to understand.

*****

Things improve a little bit, with Elder McKinley thinking of him in those terms. He’s softer with him, more gentle, and he stops asking if he’s okay and then leaving the minute after.

Maybe his treatment of Elder Price is a bit preferential, but as far as he knows none of the other elders seem to mind.

And Elder Price responds, at least a little. He starts to smile more, and he’ll eat at least in the presence of others. Elder McKinley doesn’t catch him throwing up anymore, either, and he almost forgets to be worried about how thin he is, and the bags under his eyes, until Gotswana grabs his arm and asks “What the hell is happening to Elder Price?”

He blanches. “I, um, I’m sorry, Elder, I don’t know.”

Gotswana scowls. “He looks like he’s starving himself.”

“I’m trying to get him to eat,” McKinley replies, suddenly desperate. “I haven’t just ignored this.”

Gotswana rolls his eyes. “I want to see him in my office,” he says. “With the food he’s getting, he shouldn’t look like that.”

Elder McKinley nods. “How soon should I…?”

“As soon as you can,” Gotswana replies. “But you are going to Kampala in two days, right? After that. Make sure he gets fed there, too.”

“Of course,” Elder McKinley replies. “After Kampala.”

*****

Elder Price is unusually jumpy on the trip this time around. He grips the edge of his seat like someone is going to pry him off, and Elder McKinley doesn’t know what to do. He tries to engage the other elder in conversation, but all he gets in return are vague, short little responses, and he gives up maybe a little too quickly. All he can do is watch, disappointment and fear roiling in the pit of his stomach, as Elder Price hardly eats a bite of his dinner at the hotel the night before their meeting with the mission president.

It only gets worse the next day as they walk towards the temple, until Elder Price grabs his arm, right in front of the doors.

“Whatever he asks you,” he says, “whatever he offers, say no.”

“What?” Elder McKinley asks, bewildered.

“Please,” Elder Price whispers. His eyes are wide, and terrified. “Please, say no.”

And then they’re inside, smiling at the greeter at her desk, and all he can say is “Okay,” as they approach the mission president’s office. The man himself comes out quickly, beaming at the two of them. “Boys, welcome,” he says, throwing an arm around Elder Price’s shoulders. “It’s wonderful to see you. Which report is this, the fourth one? You’re almost in the home stretch, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Elder McKinley replies, putting on a smile. “I am very proud of my district, sir. Thank you for giving us this second chance.”

The man’s grin turns into a smirk. “Don’t thank me,” he says, “thank Elder Price. Without his… persuasion, this wouldn’t be possible.”

Elder Price turns red, and shrugs his way out of the man’s hold.

“But, Elder McKinley,” the president continues, “how about you come join us today? You haven’t gotten a chance to see one of these reports before, I take it, and Elder Price does a simply wonderful job.”

Elder McKinley’s eyes flick to Elder Price’s face; he’s watching the ground, and refuses to look up.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he replies, “I truly appreciate the opportunity, and I would love to, um, watch, but I’m afraid I have some errands to run while you two meet.”

The lie crosses his tongue smoothly, almost eloquently. He’s rather proud of himself, until the mission president’s face darkens and he takes a threatening step forward.

“Are you sure, Elder?” the man asks. “I believe Elder Price has a special surprise for us this time around.”

McKinley’s composure deserts him, and he shakes his head quickly. “I’m sorry, sir, I really am, but I have work to do. Time is of the essence, you know, and we can’t spare more than one trip to Kampala a month.”

But the president doesn’t seem to hear him. He turns to Elder Price, who is waiting with his head hung. Without a moment’s warning, he raises his arm and backhands the elder.

McKinley bites back a gasp.

“Get in here,” he growls, and takes Elder Price by the upper arm, dragging him into the office.

Elder McKinley is left, horrified, staring at the closed door.

*****

“What was that?!” he cries, the moment the hotel door closes behind them.

Elder Price’s fingers brush the red mark on his cheek. “It’s nothing,” he mutters.

“Nothing?!” McKinley doesn’t even care that he’s close to screaming. “That’s physical abuse, Elder!”

Elder Price doesn’t reply.

“Is that what’s going on?” he asks. “Is he… is he beating you?”

Elder Price shakes his head.

“Then what was _that_?”

Elder Price has the audacity to smile. “He got angry.”

“Was it because I told him ‘no’?” McKinley asks.

Elder Price nods.

“Did you know he was going to do that?”

“I knew he was going to be angry.”

“And still, you…”

“Thank you, Elder McKinley.”

McKinley wants to cry. “For what?”

Elder Price takes his hand. “For saying ‘no’.”

Elder McKinley jerks it away. “Elder Price, I want to know what’s going on, right now. This sort of behavior is grounds for a lawsuit.”

Elder Price frowns. “It’s not, actually.”

“What? What do you mean it’s not? He struck you in the presence of witnesses. That… that’s got to be assault or something.”

Elder Price looks away. “I gave him permission.”

“...you did _what_?”

Elder Price hesitates. “It was the only way to get him to listen.”

“Are you telling me that the reason we’re back in the church is because that man is physically abusing you once a month?”

Again, he hesitates. “Not exactly.”

“Not… not exactly.” Elder McKinley closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Elder Price, I want you to tell me, right now, what has been happening between you and that man that I don’t know about.”

Elder Price sighs. “I can’t.”

“You can and you will, Elder. Permission or not, I can still call the police on him.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“If I gave him permission it doesn’t mean anything.”

“How do you know it doesn’t?” Elder McKinley snaps.

“How do _you_ know it does?”

They’re silent for a moment, staring each other down.

“All right,” McKinley says. “I won’t report him. But only because I don’t have all the evidence. The minute I get the whole story we’re getting on the bus and coming back to tell the police. And, I will not accompany you to Kampala for your reports until you can assure me, truthfully, that you’re not being hurt.”

Elder Price’s eyes go wide. “No, you have to! He’s going to-”

Elder McKinley waits, but Elder Price doesn’t continue.

“I mean it, Elder,” McKinley says. “But the minute, the exact moment, you tell me, be it two o’clock in the morning or in the middle of breakfast, we can go straight to the police station, all right?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he replies. “I promise, I’m fine.”

Elder McKinley swallows. “Look me in the eyes, and tell me that.”

Elder Price’s jaw works, and after a moment he turns away.

They don’t say anything else on the bus ride back.

*****

Elder McKinley drags him to Gotswana’s. He claims he’s given a clean bill of health. When McKinley asks, Gotswana scowls and cites doctor-patient confidentiality.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks. “Any medicines, or… anything?”

Strangely gentle, Gotswana rests a hand on his shoulder. “Pray for him,” he says. “He has to decide he wants to be healed.”

*****

Elder McKinley keeps his word, and Elder Price keeps his. When the end of the month comes and Elder Price gets on the bus for Kampala, Elder Cunningham accompanies him.

McKinley didn’t tell anyone about what happened in Kampala, so he gets a few weird looks at the companions’ departure, but he holds his peace. He’s half hoping that Elder Cunningham will get things worked out, that Elder Price might listen to _him_ , but if he’s really honest with himself, he knows that he’s angry with Elder Price for not trusting him by revealing what exactly is going on. McKinley cares for him, probably a little too much, and he doesn’t want to see him hurt, but, at the same time… He wants Elder Price to talk to him. If going to Kampala without Elder McKinley will make him spill his secrets, it’s a chance McKinley’s willing to take.

*****

“Please, Elder McKinley,” Elder Cunningham begs, “I can’t… you don’t know what happened there, I can’t stay in the same room as him right now.”

The elder’s eyes are wide, entreating, and, McKinley sees, tearful. He almost looks to be in worse shape than Elder Price was in when the both arrived hardly a moment ago.

Elder Price immediately went to his room, resisting the coaxing of the elders outside his door, and Elder Cunningham pulled McKinley aside to ask, quite surprisingly, for a new roommate.

“I think I have an idea,” Elder McKinley replies, voice hushed in case anyone else is listening in. “But, Elder, doesn’t this mean we should be supporting him? What’s happening is awful; shouldn’t we show him we love him anyway?”

Elder Cunningham shakes his head. “I know, I know, but, Elder McKinley, I… you don’t know what happened in there, I can’t- I just can’t right now.”

Elder McKinley frowns. _What on earth happened this time?_ “What about rule 72?”

“I… I’m sorry, Elder McKinley, I just… I can’t stay in the same room as him.”

“All right, Elder. Would you mind staying with Poptarts until we get this all worked out?”

Elder Cunningham’s smile of relief speaks volumes.

*****

“Pack your things,” Elder McKinley commands, walking into the room. Locks are not allowed on the bedroom doors, of course, but generally he tries to give the elders their privacy by at least knocking first. Not today, though. Not with Elder Price.

The man’s head snaps up from between his hands, and his eyes are wide with horror.

“Are you sending me away?” he asks.

Elder McKinley resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Elder Cunningham has requested a temporary transfer and therefore will be rooming with Elder Thomas. That leaves you with me, and I am not going to move out of my room.” His tone is short and clipped and harsh, he knows, but he’s not even going to try and turn off his anger right now.

“...Arnold requested a transfer?” Until he hears that. Elder Price sounds _devastated._

“It’s just a temporary measure,” McKinley replies, a little more gently. “He just said that he’s uncomfortable sleeping in the same room with you right now.”

Elder Price jumps to his feet. “I told him I’m sorry!”

“You don’t need to be _sorry_ , Elder. What’s happening is not your fault, not at all.”

Elder Price looks away, and Elder McKinley can’t resist pushing further. “If you would just tell me what’s going on, Elder, we could tell the police, and we could make this better.”

“Arnold didn’t tell you?”

“No, Elder. He just asked me for a transfer. But, I must say, I would have never anticipated that, so it’s not exactly soothing my fears any. Why won’t you just tell me so we can work this out?”

“It’s too late,” he mutters. “I can’t… Arnold won’t even talk to me; there’s nothing…”

“Woah, woah, hold on a second there, Elder Price. It’s not too late. Whatever Elder Cunningham saw may have been disturbing, but it’s never too late.” Slowly, cautiously, McKinley approaches, wary but yearning to reach out to him. “What the mission president is doing is wrong, Elder, whatever it is. If you tell me what it is, we can get the police involved, and you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Elder Price tries to laugh at that, he thinks, but he hasn’t laughed in so long the sound is more of a choked up sigh.

“Arnold is never going to forgive me,” he says. “No matter what I do, it’s… he’ll never think of me the same again.”

Now Elder McKinley does close the distance between them, clasping Elder Price’s forearm. “You can’t think like that,” he urges. “This is not your fault. And, Elder Price, he’s been worried about you, we all have. We might not think of you the same again, but we already don’t think of you as the same elder who arrived here months ago. You’re a different person now, and, whatever’s happening with the mission president aside, that’s okay. We’ll still be here for you, no matter what.”

Elder Price gives him an annoyed look, strikingly similar to a face he might have his first week in Uganda, tears and pale skin notwithstanding, and McKinley almost gasps at the sight. “You can’t speak for the others,” he replies hoarsely. “You don’t know what they’ll think.”

“I know that you’ll still be our brother in the church,” McKinley responds. “You’ll still be a latter-day saint. And, I can tell you for sure that Elder Church will be on your side.”

Elder Price blinks. “Oh, because of that thing with his… yeah.”

Elder McKinley nods. “Exactly.”

“But… I gave him permission, Elder McKinley. I offered.”

When McKinley answers, his words are slow, measured. One wrong step now and Elder Price may never trust him again. “I don’t think that permission was yours to give,” he says. “The mission president is your superior; I don’t think you can, legally speaking, agree for him to hurt you.”

Elder Price pulls away, going to sit on the bed again, and for a sickening moment Elder McKinley is sure he’s ruined everything.

“What if… it wasn’t just…” Elder Price sighs, burying his face in his hands. “What if I let him do more?”

His words are almost a whisper, but Elder McKinley hears him loud and clear.

“What?” he asks, immediately going tense. As district leader, he had to go through extra training, of course, covering all the different situations that could come up while managing seven teenage boys in Uganda. One of the issues, barely touched on but still there by legal necessity, was sexual harassment. Suddenly, Elder McKinley thinks he’s starting to understand.

“What if I… offered something… really wrong?” Elder Price whispers, rubbing his face with his hands. “What if he’s not really hurting me? What if I’ve just been… doing him favors to keep the district alive?”

Elder McKinley hardly breathes. “Favors?”

Elder Price winces, finally dropping his hands. “Sex,” he says, staring at the floor.

Elder McKinley can’t move, paralyzed with horror, and his eyes flick up to meet his.

“I didn’t… I swear, I only… I thought it…” Elder Price sighs, and the sound quavers, laden with unshed tears. “I’m sorry.”

Numbly, as if through a haze, Elder McKinley hears himself say “It’s not your fault.”

Elder Price doesn’t answer.

“Will you tell me what happened?” he finally asks, taking a small step closer. “What… why? And how?”

Elder Price takes a deep breath, and nods.

* * *

The door clicks shut, and Elder Price sets his shoulders. _It’s nothing you haven’t done before,_ he tells himself. _But this time, it will work._

He turns around and gives the mission president a smile. It’s not his accustomed bright grin, but he doesn’t want it to be too obvious he’s trying to seduce the man.

“Well, what is it, Elder Price?” the mission president asks, sitting back in his chair. “What is it that you couldn’t share in front of your district leader? Is there something else going on up there that I need to know?”

Elder Price politely folds his hands in front of him and shakes his head. “No, sir. This is more of a… personal issue.”

“A personal issue? Elder, I don’t have time for the quabbles of teenage boys. I’m a busy man, with plenty of responsibilities beyond keeping you all in line. I’m afraid you’re going to have to-”

“But you see, sir,” Elder Price interrupts, lowering his head a little in apology, “I think this problem of mine might be of interest to you.”

The man looks dubiously intrigued. “How so?”

“Well, sir… I…” _Get on with it._ “I’ve been having gay thoughts.”

The mission president doesn’t respond.

“And, sir, I know that’s definitely against God’s plan for me, so I’ve been thinking of ways to cure it. I’ve prayed about it, and…” Elder Price smirks. “I think just a quick taste is the way to go.”

“Elder Price, what are you saying?”

 _Well, at least he doesn’t seem uninterested._ “I’m saying that, God willing, I indulge one time, and then I’ll never be tempted again. The only problem, of course, is finding the right candidate. I wouldn’t want to try anything with my fellow elders. They have too little… experience.” Elder Price takes a deep breath, and forces himself to meet the man’s eyes. “But you, sir… You would be the perfect candidate. Plenty of experience, I’m sure. You’re a man of authority. I’m sure you would make my taste worthwhile.” As slow and seductive as he’s making his little speech, there’s a moment where Elder Price is sure he’s about to get himself arrested, not just sent home. The mission president’s face doesn’t change, but there’s a smirk in his tone as he replies, and Elder Price allows himself to smile.

“You misunderstand me, Elder,” he says. “I want to hear it from your lips. What is it you want from me?”

Elder Price rises from his chair, slowly coming around the desk, and he falls to his knees in front of the mission president. “You know what I want.” He hopes his voice sounds rough with lust and not with horror. As the man above him smirks, and his own fingers unzip his pants, he wonders for a moment why he’s doing this. Why is he doing this _again_.

As hands fist in his hair, and he has to remember to breath through his nose, he tells himself it’s for the mission. It’s for the district.

As the mission president comes down his throat, he thinks _it’s because I’m sorry._

*****

They strike a deal: six favors, and the District Nine elders get to remain in Uganda, and the mission president tells their families that the ‘misunderstanding’ from before has been worked out. There are limits to what the mission president can do; it has to stay under 45 minutes, and Elder Price refuses to do anything other than blowjobs without lubrication. He cringes at the thought, but the mission president merely smiles and says that won’t be necessary yet.

“Be prepared to take it all next time,” the man says. “Brush up on your skills. If you refuse to practice with any of the elders, please use protection. I don’t want to get AIDS because you sucked off some infected villager and passed it on to me.”

“Understood, sir.”

“And, Elder Price? If you breathe a word of this to anyone, or a single rumor reaches me about homosexual activity in District Nine, I will not hesitate to turn you and any others involved to the Kampala police, and our agreement will be null and void. Do I make myself clear?”

Elder Price swallows. “Crystal, sir.”

*****

There is nothing on this earth that could persuade Elder Price to engage in anything with any of his fellow elders, and the thought of doing anything with any of the other members of the church (most of whom are older than him, all the young, healthy ones living in the capital) makes him sick. So, he asks Elder McKinley to buy some bananas, and he practices on those. They’re not like the real thing, of course, but they taste better, and he’s in control of how far anything gets shoved down his throat. It’s slow work, destroying his gag reflex, but he keeps his eyes on the prize and pushes through, the way he’s supposed to.

It’s not so bad, really. He just has to think of it as another job, another task to complete. It’s just another part of his mission. This is what he’s contributing to the district. The only hitch in his plan is goddamn Elder McKinley (he figures that, with the other heinous crimes on his conscience, he doesn’t need to worry so much about profanity anymore). He knows the man watches him, especially after the vomiting incident. He couldn’t help himself that time; the thought of all the church members’ well-made and blessed food mixing with the mission president’s come in his stomach just made him too nauseous. But he’s got a handle on it now, and if Elder McKinley would just stop _watching_ him like he’s a frickin’ guard dog, then he’d be perfectly fine until his next trip to Kampala.

If he’s completely honest, though, the district leader’s concern is pretty flattering. Since none of the other elders really give him the time of day anymore, except for Arnold, it’s pretty noticeable when Elder McKinley smiles at him over breakfast or gives him a friendly pat on the back before sending them all out to proselytize.

But it doesn’t make things any easier.

*****

He asks Elder McKinley to come with him to Kampala again for a number of reasons: first, he doesn’t want anyone finding out what’s really going on, so the fewer people who see him directly after these meetings, the less likely that the entire district will figure him out. Second, he’s the district leader, and it makes more sense to ask him than anyone else. Third, when it comes to spending days on a bus with any of the District Nine elders, he’d pick McKinley over everyone, anytime.

And, fourth… aside from the fact that he’s a very constant reminder of Elder Price’s guilt, he’s a soothing presence to be around. It’s easy to get lost in him, in a way, and he knows he’s going to need that after what he’s about to do. After all, it’s only a problem being around Elder McKinley when he doesn’t want to be reminded about what he’s doing. Once it’s brought to the forefront of his mind, though… he’ll take whatever comfort he can get.

*****

His practice pays off; the mission president actually gasps as he comes down the back of Elder Price’s throat this time, and he says that next time won’t require Elder Price to do any extra practice. He doesn’t say exactly what he’s going to want, but Elder Price is too glad that it’s over to worry about next month yet.

And the look on Elder McKinley’s face as he tells him that Elder Price is single-handedly saving the district… it makes everything worth it.

*****

He should have asked what the mission president wanted in advance. Wiping the come from his face with the top half of his temple garment, the memory of the man’s ass under his tongue striking against what’s left of his conscience with every heartbeat, he can hardly make himself stay to hear the man’s command: “Make sure to finger yourself for next time. I don’t want any blood when I take your virginity.” But he does, and he barely makes it to the bathroom before he’s emptying his stomach into one of the pristine toilets the LDS temple offers. Even after the first time, back in Provo, he hadn’t been this disgusted with himself. He doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to eat after this.

And Elder McKinley sounds scared as he (of course) follows him in, asking if he’s all right.

 _I’m sucking the mission president’s cock every month!_ he wants to scream. _I’m not fucking okay!_  

But he just says “I’m fine,” and hopes that he gets a chance to wash his garments before the stains set.

*****

The next month is hard. Aside from having to get hold of lube without anyone knowing, and having to _practice_ , he has to come to terms with the fact that he’s whoring himself out. There’s no way around it.

He almost enjoyed giving head. It wasn’t awful, and, all the times he’s tried it, it has been of his own volition. But what he’s facing now is different. His only experience in that way has been with the general, and it still gives him nightmares. He remembers the agonizing pain, the humiliation, the confusion, then panic. He had been so sure he was doing the right thing, and the callous actions of one man had destroyed him.

Elder Butt-fucking-Naked apologized to him, soon after his conversion. He shrugged during it,  and smiled, and said that it wasn’t the worse thing he had done to a missionary and that he admired Elder Price’s pluck. And Elder Price smiled in return, and shook his hand, and said that all was forgiven in a Missionary Training Center-sanctioned tone. Elder Butt-fucking-Naked grinned, blessed his name, and went on his merry way. He seemed to carry no baggage from his time as a murdering, raping, pillaging warlord, and Elder Price envied him.

How come he could surrender all his guilt without a qualm, while Elder Price, raised in the church, could hardly begin to forgive himself for his failures, not to even mention his sexual transgressions? How come Elder Price isn’t even able to think of sex except in violent, degrading, disgusting terms? How come _Elder Butt-fucking-Naked_ gets to be happy, while Elder Price-

The same thoughts repeat, on a constant loop, as Elder Price eats just enough to keep himself going, not enough to throw up; as he steals a bottle of lube from a cockroach infested convenience store, leaving too much cash in its place; as he shoves his fingers up his ass, biting his lip at the pain; and as he tells Elder McKinley that he’s fine, day after day after day.

*****

But then it’s over, and it really isn’t that bad. It hurts, and he wasn’t adequately prepared, but there was no way in hell he was going to try anything while Elder McKinley was awake, and he stretched himself before sunrise and in the five minutes the mission president gave, so it could have been worse. And, thankfully, the man wasn’t merciless. But it still hurts to walk, and the bus ride back to Kitguli is torturous.

He catches Elder McKinley’s eyes on him as he winces, but he doesn’t comment. Elder Price is sure he’s being completely obvious about what happened, but for an ex-gay Mormon missionary, McKinley doesn’t seem to understand exactly what homosexual behavior might entail. But the district leader doesn’t ask, and Elder Price is grateful. God only knows what Elder McKinley thinks of him now.

*****

They get a phone call from the mission president, halfway through the third month, and with a look of befuddlement Elder Poptarts (the one who picked up the phone) tells Elder Price it’s for him.

He takes the phone with sweaty hands. “Yes, sir?” he answers.

“Elder Price, yes. I forgot to tell you when you were last here what my expectations are for your next report. I think that what you demonstrated this past month will be sufficient, as long as you bring a friend to observe. I would suggest another elder, as it might be rather inappropriate for a villager to see, don’t you agree?”

Elder Price swallows. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, then, I will see you and your friend in a few weeks, Elder Price, or I will be forced to take disciplinary action against your district. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, sir. I understand completely.”

Any good feelings he might have had about his next trip to Kampala are destroyed in that moment, and all he can think as he hangs up the phone is _what am I going to tell Elder McKinley?_

Because of course it has to be Elder McKinley. He doesn’t trust any of the others to keep his secret except for Arnold, and while he may be a whore he refuses to be a home-wrecker.

Elder McKinley will understand. He’ll pity him, maybe; he might not be able to look him in the eye (not that Elder Price has been able to keep his head up lately), but he understands sacrifice for the church. He’s had to hide an entire part of himself to please the church. He’ll see why Elder Price is doing this.

*****

It’s when they’re on the bus to Kampala that Elder Price starts to doubt himself. _What if he doesn’t understand?_ he thinks. _What if it’s too disgusting for him to let slide? What if he has the mission president send me home?_ He doesn’t know if Elder McKinley has that authority, but it won’t matter as soon as they get in the office. How can someone who’s seen what Elder McKinley is going to see possibly view Elder Price as anything except a filthy, sinful, slut in a missionary’s clothes? After all, that’s what he is, isn’t he? At least until the whole thing is over.

But, once these six months are over, the district will be safe, and he can go back to being a good Mormon missionary again.

_Right?_

He almost laughs at himself. That’s what he thought the first time, and look where he is now. Now he’s about to bend over for the Ugandan mission president while his district leader looks on. He’s sucked off two church leaders, and had the Book of Mormon up his ass. He lost any chance of redemption months ago.

*****

He panics, though, at the last moment. He thinks desperately that, maybe, there’s a chance he can at least save his reputation in Elder McKinley’s eyes. He can’t lose one of the only two friends he has in the world.

“Whatever he asks you, whatever he offers, say no,” he begs, taking Elder McKinley’s arm. They’re standing right in front of the temple, and there’s a chance the mission president will see, but he’d rather have that if he can save this one last shred of himself from the disdain that’s sure to come.

“What?” Elder McKinley asks, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“Please,” Elder Price. He probably looks deranged, warning his district leader against the mission president, but he doesn’t care. He can’t do this if the cost is Elder McKinley’s affection. “Please, say no.”

And when he says “Okay,” soft enough that no one except for Elder Price could possibly hear, he realizes with a shock that Elder McKinley _trusts_ him. And this… this is what he does with it.

He makes himself sick.

*****

The mission president is friendly, welcoming; he throws what must look like a casual arm over Elder Price’s shoulders. To him, it’s just another reminder that this man owns him for the next two months.

Elder McKinley doesn’t see anything wrong, though. He smiles, and thanks the mission president with obvious confidence. _He has no idea what he’s saying no to,_ Elder Price thinks, and he is grateful.

But then the mission president starts making insinuations, and Elder Price knows he’s leading up to his offer. He trusts Elder McKinley to say no, but he doesn’t know how the mission president will respond, and that in and of itself could be incriminating.

“Elder McKinley,” the man says, “how about you come join us today? You haven’t gotten a chance to see one of these reports before, I take it, and Elder Price does a simply wonderful job.”

He looks away in shame, but he can still see Elder McKinley send him a curious look out of the corner of his eye. He makes something up about running some errands, but it’s only because Elder Price knows better that he can tell. It sounds smooth enough, though, and he almost thinks it’ll work until the mission president repeats his offer. He does not sound happy, and when looks up he sees that Elder McKinley has gone pale.  “I’m sorry, sir, I really am,” he says, “but I have work to do. Time is of the essence, you know, and we can’t spare more than one trip to Kampala a month.” Maybe not quite as believable as the first time, but at least he kept his story straight. Elder Price is almost proud of him, until the mission president’s hand connects with his cheek, and all he can think is _how am I going to explain this?_

“Get in here,” the man orders, dragging him into the office by his arm. He doesn’t dare look back before the door closes.

“What did you tell him?” the mission president barks.

“I didn't tell him anything, sir.”

“Don’t lie to me. He hasn’t had errands to run a single time that he’s come here, but now, suddenly, ‘time is of the essence’?”

“I don’t know why he changed his mind, sir.”

“I said don’t lie to me!” Another slap comes, luckily on the same side of his face. Elder Price doesn’t want to have to explain any extra marks. “Take off your clothes. Now.”

Elder Price does, taking his time to fold them neatly and set them on the desk. He tries not to shiver, but the look in the mission president’s eyes is in now way comforting.

“May I have time to prepare, sir?”

“You lost that privilege when you lied to me. Hand me the lube.”

Elder Price’s hands shake as he pulls the small bottle out of his pocket and hands it over.

“I will be as rough as I choose,” the mission president says, taking hold of Elder Price again and pushing him face down onto the desk, “and you will be satisfied with what I give you, because you don’t deserve anything after that stunt you just pulled, do you understand me?”

Elder Price doesn’t answer, and the man grabs a fistfull of his hair, yanking it backwards in retaliation. “I said, do you understand me?!”

“Yes!” Elder Price gasps. “Yes, I understand. I’m sorry, sir.”

“You will be.”

And he is, he’s so, so sorry that his lie was too obvious because this _hurts_ , and the pain keeps pushing deeper and deeper until the man groans and comes inside him, but not even this could make his actions not worth it. He’d rather take this, with the bruises on his bony hips and the pain in his ass, and the frantic interrogation he’s sure to get, than have Elder McKinley watch.

*****

The mission president tells him that whoever he brings next time won’t be given a chance to back out; Elder Price doesn’t respond. He just heads to bathroom to clean himself out as best he can, sighing in relief when he doesn’t find any blood, and tries to think of what he can tell Elder McKinley. Because the man is _furious_ , or at the very least on the verge of panicking, and he thinks that for once saying ‘I’m fine’ won’t be enough. But then, he _defends_ him, and talks about going to the police, and lawsuits, like Elder Price is someone worth fighting for, worth ruining someone’s career for.

He’s not really sure what to do with that.

He knows, though, that they can’t get the police involved. Position of authority or no, Uganda’s homosexuality laws would get the mission president and he both imprisoned for years, and Elder Price wouldn’t be able to face the world with a felony on his record.

So he discourages Elder McKinley, and he tells him that he’s got a handle on it, and he knows that McKinley knows that if he doesn’t keep doing this they’re going to lose the district and everything he gave will be for naught, but then Elder McKinley says “Look me in the eyes and tell me that.”

He can’t.

*****

“Elder Price, it’s good to see you again,” Gotswana says, clicking his pen imperiously. “Except not, because you are sick, and that is not good. Tell me your symptoms.”

Elder Price didn’t even know he had symptoms.

“You look like you are starving to death, of course you have symptoms,” Gotswana replies. “But fine, if you must, I will give you full exam. Open your mouth and go ‘ah’.”

Gotswana really is a good doctor, being thoroughly invasive as he examines practically every inch of Elder Price’s body. But then he shoves a gown at him, leaves the room just long enough for him to get into the flimsy thing, and then comes back, demanding he go ‘ass-up’ with a smirk.

“This part shouldn’t be too hard,” he says, and Elder Price knows that he’s referring to what happened with the general, but it doesn’t keep his breath from hitching and his shoulders from going tense. But he does it, because he knows he has to, and Gotswana parts the cloth of the gown, and then he stops.

“Elder Price,” he asks, “are you being sexually active?”

“...yes.”

“Hmm.” The doctor moves away, leaving the fabric parted, and Elder Price shivers reflexively.

He comes back pretty quickly, though, holding a tube, and says “hold still,” in a nicer tone than usual, and maybe Elder Price should be worried about that, but then Gotswana’s gloved fingers are rubbing something into the skin of his hole, and he almost panics, except that it feels so good he almost moans in relief.

“What is that?” he asks, gasping.

“It is a numbing agent,” Gotswana replies. “What you’ve got here looks painful.”

“How bad is it?”

The doctor hesitates. “It looks… it’s swollen. I didn’t know Elder- any of the elders would be rough with you like this.”

Elder Price’s whole body jerks. “It wasn’t- what?”

“It wasn’t one of your elders?” Gotswana asks, and Elder Price feels his fingers still. “Did you use-”

“No, there was no protection,” he snaps.

“You need to get tested.”

“He doesn’t have AIDS.”

Gotswana laughs. “There are other STDs, Elder Price, and you look like shit.” He pats the elder’s ass, covering him with the hospital gown again. “Sit up.”

Elder Price does, and he sighs at how wonderful it feels to sit down without pain. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and Gotswana flashes him a grin over one shoulder.

“You won’t be thanking me in a minute,” he says.

But even after getting his blood drawn, mouth swabbed, and having to get his ass checked out (again), he’s still pathetically grateful for how impossibly soothing whatever the hell Gotswana put on him is. He asks what the name of it is, hoping he can maybe find it when he goes to get more lube, and Gotswana just hands him the bottle.

“Consider this my tithe,” he says, scrawling a label on the vial of blood. “Now get outta here; you’ve got a clean bill of health until your tests come back.”

*****

When thinking about the effects this prostitution could have on his life, Elder Price has to admit that he didn’t even think of STDs; perks of living in an abstinence-until-marriage-based culture, he guesses. But now that the idea is in his head, he can’t stop thinking about it.

 _What if I have AIDS?_ he wonders. _What will I tell my parents?_ He’s heard from the other church members that the medication for it is really expensive, and his mom and dad expect him to pay for his mission like every other Mormon boy. But without those medications, people go downhill fast. It could only take a couple of months. And his parents won’t want him dead, not even after he tells them how he got it, he thinks. Maybe.

But what if he does? He can’t marry anyone in the church, then. It’ll turn him into a walking beacon of sexual immorality, and nobody will bother to ask why. Everybody will know what he did.

 _I can’t have AIDS,_ he tells himself. _I can’t._ And he pretends that the power of prayer will be enough.

*****

When Gotswana hands him his lab results, a long list of negatives (all except for one, which just puts him at a higher risk for cancer, eventually) lining the paper, he cries. When he thanks Gotswana, the man smiles and says “We all prayed for you, Elder Price.”

He starts to panic, wondering if Gotswana told, but the man continues: “I told the congregation that a young person came to me and was getting tested for AIDS, and me and my family prayed for you. Thank God for His work, not me for mine.”

So he does, right there in the clinic, for the first time in months, and Gotswana pats him on the back before kicking him out in favor of a young woman with a snotty-nosed baby.

*****

When Elder McKinley asks about his appointment, he says he’s fine. For once, it’s the truth, but he knows that Elder McKinley doesn’t believe him, and that the man is worried. It’s ironic. The one time he tells the truth, he isn’t trusted. How’s that for poetic justice?

But Elder McKinley also gave him an ultimatum: spill his guts, or pick someone else to go to Kampala with, no matter how many times Elder Price asks.

He resigns himself to choosing Arnold, and hates himself just a little more.

*****

“Aw, man, this is going to be great! I can’t wait to hear what’s in your report,” Arnold says as they traipse into the temple. “I wonder if the president still hates me? I hope not. I mean, we’ve converted a lot of people, and that means more souls for heaven, and that’s good, right, buddy?”

Elder Price doesn’t smile.

“Um… Kevin?” Arnold asks, but then they’re outside the office, and Elder Price’s hand is shaking too much for him to knock.

“Wow, you’re really nervous, aren’t you? Haven’t you done this before? Come on, it’s just a report. It’s not a big deal.”

Before Arnold’s last sentence is finished, the mission president opens the door.

“Elders, come in,” he commands. He goes to stand behind his desk, and Elder Price and Elder Cunningham stand behind the two chairs provided for guests. Elder Price’s hand grips at the back of his with white knuckles; he takes a deep breath to steel himself. The smell of paper and clean carpets, and the cold air washing over him, and the feeling of the mission president’s keen blue eyes on his body, all of them are sickening and familiar, and he doesn’t know if he can do this again. But then the mission president says his name, and his head snaps up like he’s a dog and the president is his master, and he knows he has no choice.

“Come here,” the man commands. Elder Price does.

The man takes hold of his jaw with a grip that’s none too gentle. “What have you told him?” he asks.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Good.” The man lets go, and turns to Arnold. “Elder Cunningham, I’m afraid your companion has neglected to tell you your true reason for being here today. What did he tell you, you were going to listen to a report? What he gives here is certainly no report, but I guess you’ll be the judge of that yourself. Elder Price, give this elder an… oral briefing of the situation, if you would.”

 _So, a blowjob,_ he thinks. Three men in his mouth, but only two in his ass. _Are you trying to minimize the damage, sir? Or do you just not want me used and sloppy when it’s your turn?_

He wishes his thoughts were sarcastic.

“Kevin, buddy… what’s going on?” Arnold’s eyes flick from the mission president back to Elder Price, and Elder Price has to take another deep breath before walking over to him.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, and then he falls to his knees. _You have no idea how sorry I am._

“Kevin, what- get up off the floor, what’s… what is he talking about?”

Elder Price hesitates; the mission president clears his throat sharply.

“Elder Price,” he snaps, “please continue.”

Slowly, but without stopping, Elder Price’s reaches for his friend’s belt.

Arnold slaps his hand away. “Hey, wait a minute. I wanna know what’s going on here.”

“Arnold, please,” Elder Price begs. “Just… just let me do this, okay?”

His hands nimbly unfasten Arnold’s belt, and he pulls down the zipper of his slacks.

“Kevin, stop!”

Elder Price stops. “Arnold, I have to do this.”

“No!” Arnold cries. “No, you… what? No! This is… you don’t have to do this at all! What’s _wrong_ with you?”

Elder Price flinches; it’s worse than being slapped. He bows his head, and the mission president takes a threatening step forward.

“Elder Cunningham-” he begins, but Arnold jerks away, hurriedly zipping his fly again.

“No,” he repeats. “You don’t- this is wrong, this is so, so wrong, and I’m not gonna stay in here any longer.”

He runs out, slamming the door; his belt is still undone.

*****

The mission president is furious.

Even with Gotswana’s ointment, Elder Price will hardly be able to walk for the next few days.

*****

The bus ride back to Kampala is excruciating; Arnold won’t even look at him. Finally, Elder Price realizes that he’s gone too far.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, district leaders have to make the hard choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys... sorry about the wait. And, yes, this is now part 2 of 3. This section just got really long, and plot-heavy. 
> 
> Again, all the trigger warnings apply: rape mention, profanity, angst, emotions, internalized homophobia, all that good stuff. If you're worried, please message me and I can give you specifics, but pretty much this entire story is problematic. Read at your own risk.

By the end of the story, Elder McKinley’s nails are digging into the flesh of his palms so hard he thinks he might draw blood. Elder Price is looking up at him with pleading, open earnestness; it’s out of place on the face that McKinley has watched grow blank, gaunt, and pale. So much of the past few months is snapping into place right now, and he’s never been more disgusted with himself in his life. But he can’t break down now. Not in front of Elder Price.

“All right,” he says. “Okay. Thank you, Elder, for telling me this. Now, I’m going to go prepare your bed, get the sheets stripped and everything, while you pack your things, okay?”

Elder Price’s face falls.

“I’m not going to make you leave,” McKinley assures him distantly. “And, I don’t even know if you’re thinking this, but I am not angry with you, or… or disgusted, or any sort of thing like that. I just need to go get the room ready. I’ll be back in a moment to get you, all right?”

“Sure,” Elder Price mumbles, scrubbing a hand roughly over his face.

“Okay,” Elder McKinley repeats. And then he turns neatly, and walks to the door with measured steps. He goes to the common room, and he asks if Elder Cunningham would please follow him, and he goes into his bedroom and tells Elder Cunningham to close the door behind them. The moment the door clicks shut is the moment he lets himself feel it all.

“Oh my gosh, Elder,” he says. “Oh my _gosh_.”

“Did he tell you?” Arnold asks, and he nods. His chin is quivering, and he passes one hand over it, trying to hide how affected he is, but what good is it going to do now? The damage is done.

“I knew something was wrong,” he says. “I knew… I kept asking if he was okay, and he just… every time, Elder, every time he said he was fine, and I still knew it was a lie, I _knew_ he was lying to me, but I didn’t push it. I didn’t want him to hate me. I didn’t… gosh, Elder, I… this whole thing could have been avoided if I had just… if I hadn’t left the room. If I had kept asking, I could have… there was no reason this had to happen! He did this to himself! If I had just _asked_ , I could have made this better for him. He wouldn’t be…”

For once, it seems, Elder Cunningham’s loquaciousness has deserted him; he watches in silence, hands hanging limply at his sides.

“I’m sorry,” Elder McKinley says; the words have lost their meaning.

Elder Cunningham half shrugs. “You didn’t know.”

His eyes are red, too.

“Did he tell you, too?” McKinley asks.

Again, he shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “He’s gotten to be a pretty good liar.”

And no, there’s no way he could be lying; what else could bring Elder Price so low?

“He’s done it before,” he realized, horrified. “He’s been in this position before, and no one… no one has ever tried to help him. Oh my _gosh_.”

Elder Cunningham doesn’t reply, and he keeps going, words speeding up and tumbling over themselves as he connects all the dots, at long, long last.

“He must have done it to get something back home,” he says, “maybe something connected with his mission? I don’t know; he mentioned another church leader. And then with the general… I can’t believe I didn’t… and now with this man… he’s been _raped_ , Elder, at least s-seven times now! And I never…”

“Does it count as rape if he asked for it?”

Elder McKinley gapes. “Y- of course! He didn’t _want_ it!”

“But he volunteered. He could always back out.”

“He’s too good for that, Elder, you know he is. He… he’s trying to help.”

“Then is that really… you know, rape?”

Every part of Elder McKinley wants to say ‘Yes! Yes, it is, and he deserves all the love and care and treatment in the world for it,’ but… but legally speaking, Elder Cunningham has a point. “I… I don’t know,” he admits. “But that doesn’t change anything for us. He’s… he’s still part of the church, and we still love him, and he _needs_ us. I… I can't believe none of us saw it, though…”

Elder Cunningham snorts. “Nobody would have looked except you,” he says, and Elder McKinley looks up.

“What do you mean?”

“None of the other elders like him very much,” he says. “They think he’s an arrogant- uh, person.”

“But he helped save our district!”

“Yeah, but… that doesn’t really make him any easier to get along with.”

Elder McKinley takes a deep breath, drawing on strength he didn’t know he had. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since we got here, I think? I mean, they never really liked him, so…”

Elder McKinley nods. “And have you noticed anything odd about his behavior these last few months?”

Elder Cunningham shuffles one foot awkwardly. “Um… he didn’t eat much. But he did get nicer. I dunno, I’ve been really busy, but… he kind of always seemed like he wasn’t really there? If that makes sense? Like he was lost in thought all the time.”

Elder McKinley bites his lip. “Anything else?”

“He, uh.” Elder Cunningham blushes. “He kind of… I thought he was just experimenting, you know? ‘Cause I found the, uh, the lube. That he keeps with him. And I had to pretend I was asleep a couple of times when he was, um… you know. Using it.”

“And that didn’t raise any red flags?”

“No! Stuff like that is natural, you know? Experimentation, and stuff. I didn’t wanna bother him about his sexuality if he was having a crisis about it.”

“Elder Cunningham, you _know_ behavior like that is something I should be informed of.” Elder McKinley doesn’t think he’s quite able to pull off his district leader voice, but Elder Cunningham pales a little, so he counts it as a victory.

“Well, I didn’t wanna violate his privacy, after the- yeah.”

“The…? Oh, the general? How come I didn’t hear about that, either? That was a serious health hazard, Elder!” _Not to mention a violation of Elder Price’s basic human rights, and probably something that destroyed his self-esteem and led to this whole mess that we’re in now._

“He went to Gotswana!” Elder Cunningham whines. “He didn’t just tough it out, I promise!”

“All right, Elder, I trust you. But _honestly_ , one of you should have told me!”

He shifts nervously again. “Well… Kevin didn’t want to tell you, because he thought it might… bother you.”

“Of course it bothers me! Elder Price is a friend of mine, and I don’t want to see him hurt!”

“No,” Elder Cunningham mutters, “not that. ‘Cause of the… gay thing.”

“The… oh.” Because Elder Price had had relations with a _man_. Three of them, apparently, and none of which under ideal circumstances. “Well, Elder, simply because I’ve had some problems in the past doesn’t mean I’m incapable of taking care of things _now_. I’m perfectly straight, I assure you, and therefore perfectly capable of dealing with this situation.”

But Elder Cunningham is wiser than he looks, and he says “I don’t think turning it off really works, Elder McKinley,” and Elder McKinley sighs, hiding his face in his hands.

“I know,” he groans. _I’ve tried so hard._

He looks up again, straightening his shoulders and setting his jaw. “But that’s not important right now," he says firmly. "What matters is that Elder Price is in pain, and he needs prayer and support, and probably counseling. _And_ I have some elders who are apparently acting very uncharitably to their brother in church that need to be dealt with.” He takes another deep breath. Calm. Cool. Focused. He is a district leader, and one of his elders is in danger. He needs to do damage control. That’s what this is, nothing more.

“Are you okay, Elder Cunningham?”

Arnold shrugs again, tugging at his tie. “I dunno. I don’t want to tell Naba.”

 _Oh._ Yes, maybe he should do something about that, too. No relationships while on missions, Elder Cunningham should know that. But Naba is a lovely girl, and she is a wonderful Mormon, and really, if it comes down to a straight, chaste relationship between an elder and a sister of the same age versus an illicit, illegal, non-consenting, homosexual affair between an elder and his married mission president, it’s obvious which one is more of a problem.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Elder McKinley says. “And nothing really happened, right? He just… tried.”

“Yeah… It still feels weird, though.”

“I understand,” he replies, even though he doesn’t, really. Maybe it’s because he’s never been in a relationship, or because he certainly wouldn’t mind sexual attention from a man. Or maybe it’s because it’s Elder Price. But that’s getting a little desperate for his tastes; he’d never want Elder Price to be forced to… _Okay! Turn it off, Elder._ “All right, so, I’m just… I’m going to change the sheets for Elder Price, and then if you would do the same for Elder Poptarts, we’ll just make the switch real fast, and nobody will notice.”

Elder Cunningham nods. “Tell him I’m sorry?” he says. “I just…”

“It’s all right, Elder.” _Everything will be all right._

*****

After he gets Poptarts to move his things out, only giving him a quick promise of an explanation later, and an assurance that this isn’t permanent, he hurries to make the now-spare bed with clean sheets. It’s soothing, tucking in the corners and smoothing the cheap cotton down, and he forces himself to relax into the familiarity. It won’t do anyone any good to freak out now. His time for guilt and self-reflection will have to wait; now is the time to be strong for Elder Price. Someone has to.

When he goes to fetch him, the man is standing near the door, suitcase gripped firmly in his hands.

“Ready?” Elder McKinley asks, trying to smile.

Elder Price just nods, keeping his gaze on the ground.

“All right, then. Follow me.”

The hallway is incredibly short, but Elder McKinley still hastens to get down it as quickly as possible. He feels exposed in it, and he has no desire to explain to anyone why Elder Price is moving in with him before he has to. When he gets his door open, and he and Elder Price slip inside, he sighs in relief.

“Well,” he says, leaning up against the closed door, “make yourself at home, I guess.” It’s obvious which bed is Elder McKinley’s, if only by the pink reading lamp attached to the headboard and the clothes stacked neatly beside it. The other bed is stark, simply a pillow on the scratchy mission-standard blanket, and it’s there that Elder Price goes, sitting down and promptly burying his face in his hands.

“Do you… need to lie down?” Elder McKinley ventures. “Are you in pain, I mean?”

Elder Price shakes his head. “I used some of the ointment,” he mutters. “When does the next bus leave?”

“What?” _He’s… he’s not going to try and go back, is he?_

“When does the next bus for Kampala leave? This is a temporary arrangement, right?”

“Right,” Elder McKinley answers numbly, “but Elder-”

“I’d rather get it over with sooner than later.”

“Elder Price, I don’t know _what_ you think I meant, but I certainly have no plans to send you away. For one thing, I don’t have that authority and there is no way I’m going to let _that man_ end your mission prematurely for _this_. For another, you are part of this district, and it only exists because of you, even though what you did to save it was- well. You don’t deserve to be sent home. You didn’t do anything _wrong_.”

Elder Price huffs. “I don’t know where _you_ ’ve been,” he says, voice lilting and mocking, “but I’ve been sucking cock for the last few months, and letting men use my _ass_ for perverse acts. Unless that’s not wrong in your book-”

“But you didn’t want to, did you?” he says. “You felt like you had no choice.”

Elder Price looks up. “No, I… I didn’t,” he says, like it’s a revelation to himself, too, and Elder McKinley looks away.

“It’s only wrong if you want it,” he mutters. _Now is not the time, McKinley._ “We… um, we just have to figure out how to make the church see that.”

“The church?” Elder Price echoes, and McKinley nods.

“We obviously can’t let this slide; something needs to be done, and we need to report him.”

“...the mission president?”

“Yes, the mission president! Who else?”

Elder Price shakes his head. “We can’t.”

“Excuse me?” _Of course we can! What is he going on about?_

“If we report him, he’ll tell everyone, about everything. The district will be shut down.”

“But he’s-” McKinley stops. “...oh.”

Elder Price gives him a look. “Yeah.”

Elder McKinley takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, that’s… All right. I’m sure there’s another option.”

“Not if you want your mission to continue.”

“Well. What do you suggest, then?”

Elder Price stands up, looking Elder McKinley in the eye. “Let me go back to Kampala and finish out my deal, and then I’ll go home. I’ll tell my family that I… I just couldn’t hack it out here, and you guys can keep up the good work and finish out your missions.”

“But, Elder Price, you would-”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Elder McKinley crosses his arms, frowning. “You don’t even know what I was about to say.”

Elder Price shrugs. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Half an hour ago, you trusted me. You were asking me to help you. And now, you’re… you’re telling me that I should let you go back there?”

Strangely, Elder Price seems to shrink at that, ducking his head and hunching his shoulders. Maybe the worst part is that it doesn’t look unnatural at all. “You needed to take care of Arnold,” he says, and Elder McKinley takes a step back.

“Is that what you thought?” he asks, breathless.

“Well, yeah. He was pretty worked up about what I- what happened, and… I figured you should know.”

“Oh my gosh, Elder Price. Why would… no. Arnold is going to be just fine. I asked because I’m _worried_ about you, and so is he. But, Elder, to be completely honest, I couldn’t care less what happened to Arnold. You’re the one I’m concerned about, and your behavior is… you’re starting to scare me.”

Elder Price looks away. “I promise I won’t try and touch you.”

“ _What_? Elder Price, that’s not what I meant at all!”

“You can’t tell me you’re not worried about it.”

“I can and I will, Elder! This isn’t like you in the least!”

Elder Price’s head snaps up. “How do you know what I’m like?” he asks. “You didn’t even know I existed before six months ago!”

“I know enough!” McKinley retorts. “I know that _this_ , you volunteering to leave your mission _early_ , is not anything you would have done when you first arrived!”

“Yeah, because who I was when I arrived was a real asset to the district.”

“The goal of this district is to spread the word of the Lord and the stories of the saints, and you have _never_ done anything but further that. Elder, I want an actual explanation for why you’re doing this, why you _did_ this. You say I didn’t know you, fine, but I do now, and I know that this isn’t healthy. What possessed you to do this? You’re not even gay!”

“How do you know?”

Elder McKinley gasps before he realizes it. “H- um, how do I know it’s not healthy? Because your… your self-esteem is… I mean-”

“You know what I mean, Elder.”

“I’m afraid I… um, Elder Price, I… you- are you?”

He sighs. “I don’t know. It… it doesn’t really matter anymore.”

Maybe Elder McKinley should tell him it does matter, that _he_ matters, that whatever has happened does not make him _gay_ , but he is only a man, and a pretty weak one with a fondness for pink and unacceptable proclivities at that, so he asks “What do you mean?” instead.

“I… I don’t know. It doesn’t really… I don’t know, Elder McKinley. Your story with that friend of yours, from fifth grade? I… I don’t… There’s nothing like that for me.” He runs a hand through his hair, but Elder McKinley can still see it shaking. “I never had a moment where everything clicked, so… so I don’t…”

“It’s all right, Elder,” McKinley assures, saving him from his floundering. There’s a physical pain in his chest as he watches Elder Price try to explain himself; he’d rather have him fighting than this. It’s far too close to pitiful, and Elder McKinley’s heartstrings are already stretched to their breaking point. “What… what happened doesn’t have anything to do with your, um, sexuality.”

“It does, actually, Elder, because if anybody was going to do this, it shouldn’t have been somebody who… who has a girl waiting for them, or a chance with one.”

“No one needed to do this, Elder Price! This didn’t need to happen!”

“Would you rather go home?”

“Yes!”

“...you would rather go home, ashamed, and have to tell your family that you failed your mission, than have me… do the mission president some favors?”

“You… it’s not just some favors, Elder! You’re not okay!”

“I’m doing _fine_ , Elder McKinley!”

“No. You’re not doing fine, Elder Price, and I’m tired of hearing it. You are… you’re hurting yourself. You look like you’re starving. We’re all worried about you.”

“No, you’re not. You’re worried about the district. You’re worried about your image.”

“I’m _what_?”

“You don’t want anybody to know you let me do this.”

“I don’t want you to be hurt! I care about you!”

“You care about me as far as a district leader should care about his charges. You personally couldn’t give less of a- of a _damn_ about me.”

“That is not… that’s not true.”

“But you hesitated.”

“That’s not why.”

“I don’t care, Elder McKinley. It’s fine. I don’t mind. I mean, I wouldn’t care either, if I were in your place. Just… stop pretending, and I’ll go to Kampala, get this whole thing over with, and head back home. The district will be safe, you’ll be off the hook, and… and everything will be _fine_.”

“If I ever hear the word ‘fine’ from your mouth again,” Elder McKinley hisses, “I will slap you so hard you see stars; do you hear me?”

Elder Price flinches.

“Oh… oh, gosh, Elder Price, I… I didn’t… I won’t actually hurt you.”

“I know,” he mumbles, scrubbing a quick hand over his face. “But Elder, just… I _am_ fine. I will be fine. Just let me do this.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Are seriously going to ask me to answer that?”

“Yes, I am, Elder, because it’s not like anything I can do can be worse at this point. Would you rather one of the others do it?”

“I’d rather no one do it at all!”

“That’s not an option anymore. You tried to explain to him, he didn’t listen, so I… I did what I needed to. It’s- it’s my place, Elder McKinley. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You _always_ have a choice. Everyone, at all times, always has a choice. You could choose between right and wrong, and you-”

“I already know it’s wrong, Elder McKinley.”

“I don’t care about that! I care about the fact that you’re asking me to send you _back_. I care that you’re telling me that… that I don’t care about you, Kevin Price, as anything more than a placeholder or something for me to keep my job. I care that you’re so… you’re… that you think your place is doing what you’ve done to the mission president.”

“I…” Again, Elder Price looks lost. “N-no, you don’t. That’s not true.”

“It is! It’s very true, Elder! I’m worried about you. I hate seeing you like this; please, tell me why you did it. I can’t help unless I understand!”

Elder Price steps back, shaking his head, eyes wide. “No, you- it’s fine,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“You are _not_ fine, Elder.”

Elder Price turns and walks away, going to the small screen window set in the far wall. “Leave me alone, Elder McKinley,” he says. “I’m going to take the next bus to Kampala.”

“Do you really think I’m going to let you go?”

“I… I think you’ll realize it’s the best for everyone.”

“It’s not the best for you!”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter! Elder Price, why are you… _why_? Why are you doing this? Why are you pushing me away?”

“I’m not pushing you away; I’m trying to do what’s right.”

“This isn’t what’s right! You said yourself it’s wrong!”

Elder Price sets his jaw, looking out over the patch of dirt meant to be a garden behind the mission hut. “That doesn’t matter.”

“It does. It _does_ matter. _You_ matter, Elder Price, and I can’t help you unless I know the whole story.”

The other man, his profile highlighted against the midday sun, closes his eyes, and he looks for a moment like any other missionary, preparing his soul for the day’s work. But then he suddenly wheels on Elder McKinley, eyes flashing.

“Dammit, Elder!” he cries. “I’m trying to give you a way out! Why won’t you just frickin’ take it?”

“A way out of what?” McKinley asks. But he understands. Elder Price is trying to give Elder McKinley a way out of taking care of him. He’s trying to give Elder McKinley a chance to let him go.

“A… a way out of… of getting in trouble. If anything gets out about what I did, it could bring everyone here down. I don’t want that. It’s not your fault, and it's not anyone else’s, either. It’s mine, and if there’s a fallout, it needs to be all on me.”

“No,” Elder McKinley says. “That’s not how this works, Elder Price.” He comes around the bed, closing the distance between them steadily until there’s hardly three feet of space left, and Elder Price stumbles back into the space between the bed and the wall. “I’m not going to leave you to deal with this alone.”

“It’s all my f-” Elder Price tries, but Elder McKinley cuts him off with a raised hand.

“No, it’s not,” he says. “There are many people at fault here: the mission president, Elder Butt-effing-Naked, the other elders here, Elder Cunningham, me. But you, Elder Price… it’s only your fault insofar as the fact that you carried out the action. The rest of us made you feel like you had to. So, it’s all our faults.”

Elder Price doesn’t answer, but his hand clenches around the headboard of his bed with what looks like a painfully tight grip.

“Elder Price,” McKinley repeats, taking a step forward, “this isn’t your fault. And I’m not going to send you home as if it was. Okay?”

He comes even closer, and then he’s only a step away from Elder Price, who’s breathing so hard he can see his chest rising and falling in heavy, heaving breaths.

“I’m going to hug you,” he says, feeling ridiculous but needing to wrap his arms around this poor boy more than he’s ever needed anything before. “Is that okay?”

Elder Price’s eyes flick to the door, but he nods once, a sharp jerk of his head.

Then Elder Mckinley moves fast, reaching out and folding Elder Price in a warm embrace, the way his mother did him after his father passed. He fits his chin over Elder Price’s slightly taller shoulders, bringing one hand up to the back of his neck and wrapping his other arm almost around his waist. They’re pressed too close for Elder McKinley to not feel him shaking, and that’s when something finally breaks.

“Oh, my poor baby…” he murmurs, swaying slightly with Elder Price in his arms. “You’ve been through so much, so much… I should have been there, I should have kept you safe… I promise, I will keep you safe, for forever and ever. Nothing will ever hurt you again, do you hear me? Nothing, and no one, and you’ll always, always be safe, and happy, and fearless, and beautiful… You beautiful, brave soul… You’ve done so much for us. For me. You’ve been so strong for so long, but now I’ll take care of you. I promise, I’ll take care of you, and you’ll never be afraid again. Never, ever again, do you hear? No more fear, and no more worries… God will give me the strength to take care of you for the rest of your days, and He’ll make everything beautiful, and perfect for you, because you’ve done so, so much for everyone, and you’ve been through so much... And I’ll stay with you, protecting you, making you happy, for as long as you’ll let me. As long as you want me to, I’ll make sure you never, ever suffer again. I promise… I promise, I promise, I promise.”

He holds him impossibly close, whispering the words into the side of his neck, and softly rubbing his back like he’s an infant that needs soothing. Maybe the things he’s saying are weird, or too intimate, but he can’t help saying them.

Elder Price’s tremors don’t stop, though; they grow stronger and stronger until Elder McKinley feels like if he lets go he’ll be shaken off. That’s about when he feels the warm wetness soaking in around his collar, and he realizes that Elder Price is crying.

“Shh, shh, baby,” he croons, “it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. You can cry, honey, cry all you want to, but I’m going to make everything right as rain, all right? I’ll make it all better, and you won’t hurt again, never again. Nobody will ever hurt you, not while I’m around. It’s okay, baby... it’s okay.”

He repeats that, feeling tears of his own building in the corners of his eyes as Elder Price’s breath hitches and he shudders his way through his sobs. But he doesn’t cry, because he can let himself fall apart later, after he breaks all these promises he can’t keep. “Let it out, honey. It’s okay to cry. I’m right here.”

They stand there for a long time, Elder Price wrapped in his arms. He falls quiet after a while, only humming softly as he sways and toys with the soft hair at the nape of the other elder’s neck. He can feel scalding hot tears as they fall against the back of his neck, but he doesn’t say a word about them, just trying to take in Elder Price even closer. He feels strangely vulnerable, even though Elder Price is the one falling to pieces against his shoulder. It’s like his words have given whoever hears them the power to systematically disable him, sentence by sentence, and that Elder Price could destroy him right now, simply by pushing him away. But he doesn’t, and Elder McKinley holds him close, and the silence of the mission hut after lunch falls over them like a thick wool blanket. Maybe that means it should be stifling, but Elder McKinley just feels warm. After a long, long stretch of silence, Elder Price sniffles and starts to pull away. McKinley gives him a last firm squeeze before stepping away, offering a soft smile. Elder Price’s hair is awfully mussed, and he has a teardrop at the end of his nose, but when he wipes his face with a rough hand and meets Elder McKinley’s eyes, he manages to grin a little in return.

“Well,” McKinley says, folding his hands neatly. “Do you see why I won’t send you back there?”

To his surprise, Elder Price shakes his head. “No,” he replies, sniffling again. “But that’s okay. You’re not going to, so…” He shrugs. “I guess that’s enough. Thanks.”

Now Elder McKinley blushes. “Anytime, Elder. Are you feeling better about…” He waves a hand vaguely. _Yourself_ , he means, but Elder Price says “I don’t plan to hop on the next bus, so I guess so,” and, well, if that’s what he can get, he’ll go with it.

“That’s a lot of guessing,” he says instead, and Elder Price ducks his head.

“I’m just trying to… wrap my head around this,” he replies, and Elder McKinley smiles.

“That’s fine. Take all the time you need.”

Elder Price looks up. “Did you-” he starts, but he looks away again.

“Yes?” Elder Mckinley prompts, but the other elder just shakes his head. “Well. Would you like to tell me why- no, how this all got started?”

Elder Price hesitates. “Can I have a minute?”

“Of course, of course. I’ll just… um, I’ll go clean up from lunch, and you can get all settled in. Would you like me to make you something?”

“Uh, no, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

Elder McKinley sends him a sympathetic look. “All right, Elder, if you say so. Um, I guess I’ll be back in a bit? Okay.” And he slips out of the room before he can say anything more embarrassing.

 _What was that?_ he asks himself, moving with almost robotic motions to straighten up the kitchen. He mulls it over, replaying his own words and Elder Price’s reaction again and again as he washes the dishes that really should have been done before that he doesn’t have the energy to be angry about. He feels like something has changed, and he’s a little scared. He doesn’t know what it is, but he doesn’t think Elder Price does either. It has something to do with him, he knows, but… but what is it? He stops in the middle of washing the last cup, soap bubbles dripping from his hands. It feels like when he held his little brother for the first time, almost; that feeling of… that he would never, ever let anything hurt little Thomas, that he would lay down his life for him. That feeling faded quickly, as Thomas grew up and… well, even if Elder McKinley were to decide to be gay, he still wouldn’t be the black sheep of his family.

 _How strange_ … he thinks, hurriedly continuing his work. It’s _Elder Price_ , not anyone in his family, and he hasn’t felt anything as strong for the other elders in his care. _Maybe it’s appropriate…?_ he ventures, then shakes his head. It can’t be appropriate if he hasn’t felt it for the others. Why would he be so protective of Elder Price, and not, for example, Elder Poptarts? _That poor boy…_ if anyone has the worst life in District Nine (not that they compare, of course) it’s probably Elder Poptarts. Losing his little sister just before going on his mission, and then his family having to go on food stamps, and his mother getting so sick, too; if anyone deserves to be taken care of, it’s him. But it wasn’t him that Elder McKinley’s cradled in his arms. It wasn’t him that Elder McKinley said all those things to. It was Elder Price, of all people. _Not that he doesn’t deserve it, of course._ What Elder Price put himself through is certainly bad, and deserving of protection from, but still… there’s something strange about it, and it’s bothering him.

Of course, it could just be his anxiety again… that makes more sense than there being something _wrong_ with caring for Elder Price. “That must be it,” he mutters to himself. “It’s just me being all paranoid again.” But… but _still._ “Still nothing, Elder. Just help him get better; that’s all.” He nods sharply. “That’s all.”

*****

“So…” Elder Price mumbles, wringing his hands. He’s hunched over on the sofa, and, without thinking, Elder McKinley splays a hand across his lower back. He sits up with a start, and McKinley rapidly pulls his hand away.

“Oh, goodness, I’m sorry,” he says, but Elder Price just gives him a stiff smile.

“It’s fine,” he replies, but he doesn’t relax at all. “Um. Anyway. The reason I did it, I guess, was...well, there’s a… you know most of the story. There was the thing with the general, and then… yeah. But there was the first time, back in Provo. I… it’s so _stupid_ , but I… I wanted to go to Orlando. Maybe I didn’t think it would be wrong if I did it for the right reason, I don’t know. But… um, you can probably guess what I did. I wanted to make sure I would be sent where I wanted to go, you know? And my mission was going to be my chance. So, I… I sucked off the head of the Missionary Training Center. And I got sent to Uganda.”

Elder McKinley winces. “How… I mean, if it was something else, that would quite an accomplishment. Having the courage to approach a man like that is… well, I don’t know many people who could.”

“Oh, yeah, so brave, asking to suck a church leader’s cock. Yay for me.”

“Don’t be like that, Elder. You were the one who told me it’s all about perspective, didn’t you? You can’t focus on all the bad things. It may seem like there’s a lot of them, but I bet no one else ever tried to do that with him. That’s… that’s certainly something. That takes _ingenuity_.”

Elder Price cracks a grin in spite of himself. “If you say so, Elder McKinley.”

McKinley nods solemnly. “I do.” Then he smiles, a bit awkwardly, and says “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Oh, yeah, I… So, that happened, and that was right before we got our mission assignments, so I didn’t really have time to think about it until I got paired with Arnold and we were on the flight over. And then, I… I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I was _Kevin Price_ , but I did that for a _man_ , in exchange for something I didn’t even get. Who _does_ that? I mean, it breaks so many rules of the church that it probably bordered on illegal. The only thing that would have made it worse was if I was underage. But I wasn’t, so I knew it… it probably wasn’t illegal, just very, very wrong. At that point, I guess, I wasn’t even so worried about the fact that I didn’t get what I wanted from it, so much as that I did it at all. It… stuff like that really eats at your conscience, you know?”

Elder McKinley’s hands twist in his shirt. His nightly hell dreams have made him all too aware. He nods, and Elder Price goes on.

“Um, anyway, we got here, and then our bags got stolen, you know, and the… the hasa diga thing happened, and then we met you guys. I know I was a real dick about everything, but all I was thinking was ‘how can I do something incredible and save people when I’ve been’ I don’t know… ‘corrupted.’ I was, _am_ , unclean, because of what I did, and I thought that would get in the way of my efforts for the church.”

Elder McKinley mouths a silent “oh” of epiphany. “So that’s why you took everything so hard,” he says; _you thought it was your sin keeping you from saving others._

Elder Price looks away. “I said I was sorry,” he replies, and his voice sounds a little choked, a little desperate. “I repented so many times, I… I knew it was bad. I read the right passages, the ones about sexual immorality, over and over and over. I even had the hell dreams, and…” He throws out his hands. “Nothing. Nothing worked.”

Elder McKinley has to stop his hand in midair from patting Elder Price on the back. “Is that when the general happened?” he asks softly, and Elder Price nods.

“I knew that if I didn’t start getting my act together, I’d be a failure on my mission. I couldn’t be a failure; I’m _me_! What if I got sent home? I couldn’t… I was sure that I could turn things around, if I really… if I just _believed_ in the Word and was sorry with my whole heart. So… I believed, and… I went to General Butt-Fucking-Naked’s-”

Elder McKinley starts at the sound of the new elder’s full name.

“Oh, gosh, sorry, Elder B I mean. I went to Elder B’s camp, and, um… I sang to him.”

McKinley blinks. Yep, that is _definitely_ Elder Price blushing. “You did what now?”

“I, uh, sang. It was a hymn, not anything ridiculous, but… I mean, as you can guess, it didn’t go over too well.”

“I wouldn’t think so, no.”

“So… I guess I was lucky. I could have _died_ , so… so it’s probably better that what happened, happened. I don’t know. Um. He said some stuff, too, about… well. It didn’t help, I can tell you that.”

Elder McKinley bites his lip. “May I ask what it was?” He hates to push, especially with Elder Price trusting him like this, but, if it had made things worse…

Elder Price takes a deep breath. “He called me a whore.”

McKinley’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “He… Oh, gosh.”

“...yep. And some other stuff, but…” he shrugs stiffly, “it’s not important.”

An awkward silence falls as Elder McKinley struggles with what to say. What can he do? If he tells Elder Price that he _isn’t_ , he’ll just say that he was, and he doesn’t have any sort of response to that. If he did, would it even be true? Because, really, what Elder Price has done _is_ what a whore does. But Elder Price isn’t that, he’s so much more; he just needs to find the right way to say it.

“You… you don’t have to continue, if you’d rather…” he offers, but Elder Price cuts him off, saying “No, no, I need to… to say it. You can’t help if you don’t understand, right?”

Elder McKinley tentatively smiles, regretting his words. “That’s right, Elder, but you really don’t have to, if it’s making you uncomfortable.”

Elder Price scoffs. “If I didn’t do things because they made me uncomfortable, I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

_That… is a fair point._

“Um, okay, so then Arnold got all the villagers to listen to him, and the mission president came out, and I was too busy wallowing in my own little pity party to help out, and… and that absolutely _horrific_ play, and then… Arnold panicked, of course, and I… I don’t know. If I’m proud of anything I’ve done, it’s that I made him feel better about that. I think it actually helped. He was so worried about Nabulungi, Elder, about all of them, really; it was… I didn’t think he would be, because we’d only been here for so long. But then… he said he was my best friend, and I got him to go back, and… well, you were there for that part.”

“Yes,” Elder McKinley says. “I must admit I was in awe of you for standing up to Elder B like that. If I had known about what really happened, goodness… I would have jumped in front of him for you.”

Elder Price smirks, clearly disbelieving. “Well, anyway, after that was when you picked me to go with you to make a case to the mission president. I never got to ask: why _did_ you pick me? Why not, like, Arnold?”

Elder McKinley shakes his head. “Arnold lies under pressure,” he reminds him. “And, well, each of the other elders has his own little failing. Besides, you’re quite per-” At the last second he remembers what the mission president said, their last trip together. “Um, I mean, you’re very charismatic,” and Elder Price looks away.

“You know, it’s crazy,” he says, “but somehow I thought… I don’t know, I thought that somehow you knew about… about the things that I did, and that’s why you picked me. I couldn’t really think of any other reason, and… that was rolling around my head the whole way, that you _knew_ , and that I was going to have to do it again. Maybe it was because you’re g- well…”

“Yes.”

“Are you?”

“If I wasn’t, would there be anything to turn off?”

“...I guess you’re right. Um. Sorry for bringing that up.”

Elder McKinley dismisses his apology with a gesture. He’ll make his peace with it. Eventually.

“Um, so, I was just thinking about that the whole time, and then I just… the office looked the same, he was wearing the same color shirt, he even almost looked like the head of the MTC, and I just knew that I was going to do it again. I was almost happy when he didn’t like what you said; how messed up is that? Because it gave me my chance. And… well.” He swallows. “There you have it.”

Elder McKinley takes a deep breath. “Is that all?”

“What, were you expecting more?” Elder Price asks. “That’s basically it. I’m telling you, it’s easier than you’d think to get on your knees for people. Maybe it just comes naturally to me, being a whore, I don’t know-” He’s trying to be blase about it, Elder McKinley can tell, but his hand is shaking visibly as he shoves it through his hair.

“You’re not a whore,” McKinley interrupts, unable to keep quiet anymore, and Elder Price stills.

“I- what?”

“You’re not a whore. It doesn’t come naturally to you. It’s just… something you did a few times. It doesn’t change who you are, just like how stealing a candy bar doesn’t make you a thief forever.”

“But… I’m a _sinner_ ,” he says, and Elder McKinley smiles.

“Aren’t we all?”

“...no. We’re supposed to be saints. We’re not supposed to sin anymore!”

“Through the grace of God alone,” McKinley replies. “Through His strength, and in reliance on Him.”

“What happens when that fails, huh?” he asks in sudden anger. “What happens when trusting in God isn’t enough?”

Now it’s Elder McKinley’s turn to look away. “I don’t know, Elder,” he says. “I guess we just have to trust that He knows what He’s doing. If we sin, it… it has to be a part of His plan.”

Elder Price sighs. “Good to know I’m expendable, then.”

“That’s not-”

“I know what you meant, Elder. But what else am I supposed to think? Why would He let me do this, provided that He even _exists_ , except to be an example?”

Elder McKinley blinks. “That… you are brilliant, Elder Price,” he says, completely genuine. He’s never heard that particular retort before, and he’s thought over the argument a million and one times.

But when he looks up, Elder Price’s eyes are narrowed in a scowl, and he scoots farther back on the couch.

“I don’t want any bullshit from you,” he says. “Maybe I’m not just a whore, but I know that I’m not anything special. Don’t act like I am.”

 _Well, what happened to ‘something incredible’?_ he thinks, but he knows that Elder Price’s pride brought with it a hard fall, so he doesn’t say a word, except to repeat “You’re not a whore.”

Elder Price shakes his head, then lets it fall in his hands. “Whatever you say, Elder McKinley.”

Elder McKinley steels himself with a breath, then reaches out to brush a tentative finger along Elder Price’s jawline. “Hey,” he says, and Elder Price’s head snaps up again. “You’re not a whore,” he says, sliding that finger underneath his chin and tilting it up so their eyes meet. “You are a wonderful, brilliant, charismatic young man, who is a pleasure to be around. You are a good elder, and you are an encouraging presence in this district. We wouldn’t be here without y - the things you’ve said.” Elder Price’s eyes flick away, and Elder McKinley frowns. “Look at me,” he commands gently, and the other elder does. “I’m not going to stop this until you believe it,” he says. “I will not move, and I will say anything I need to so that you understand. Okay?”

Elder Price licks his lips before almost whispering “Even though we’re really close?”

“Even though,” McKinley affirms. He leans in even closer, maintaining eye contact as best he can. “You are handsome, and earnest, and eager, and… and really beautiful, inside and out. Believe me, Elder Price, I’ve never… I never have, and probably never will, meet anyone quite like you.”

Elder Price’s jaw works under McKinley’s fingertips, and he opens his mouth a few times before just asking “Really?”

Elder McKinley smiles. “Really really.”

Elder Price blinks, and suddenly Elder McKinley is painfully aware of how close they are, of how deep and dark and layered his eyes are, of how he wouldn’t be able to move away even if he wanted to, of so many things, and… and maybe he can-

And then the door opens, and he’s sitting up so fast he loses his breath.

“Elder McKinley!” Elder Church calls, “we’re here for the meeting!”

“Meeting?” he echoes breathlessly. _It can’t be any later than three, can it? The others are supposed to be out for hours yet!_

“Yeah, the meeting you called this morning? To pray for- oh. Hello, Elder Price.”

Elder McKinley turns, and sees Elder Price standing next to the couch. He’s gone pale, and even though McKinley is still sitting he feels taller than him, the way his shoulders are hunched. He takes a deep breath, maybe to explain, but Elder Price just jerks a nod towards the invaders and hightails it to the hall.

Elder McKinley sighs. “Come in, everyone,” he says, forcing himself to stand, to smile. “Please, sit down. We have a lot to discuss.”

*****

He tries to start the prayer circle three times before finally asking Elder Poptarts to lead the group in asking Heavenly Father to “watch out for Elder Price's health and wellbeing”. He knows his voice is shaking, but he ignores the looks passed between the others in favor for crying out to God: _Dear Lord… what the heck am I supposed to do now?_

_*****_

“So, Elder McKinley…” Elder Davis starts, leaning forward with a too-curious expression. “What’s wrong with Elder Price?”

 _A lot of things. Nothing. What’s wrong with me, you mean?_ All answers he couldn’t possibly say. “There’s… it’s complicated, Elder,” he says instead, and Arnold starts to wring his hands. “What’s important is that there is something wrong, and it’s all our faults.”

Almost all of them sit back, frowns marring their perfect Mormon faces, except for Poptarts. “Um, may I ask something?” he says, and McKinley smiles.

“Of course,” he replies.

“Is he… he’s not dying, is he?”

McKinley’s smiles freezes. “What? Of course not! It’s not… it’s not an entirely physical thing.”

Elder Church snorts. “Is he crazy?” he asks.

“N- no!” McKinley cries; the other elders hear his hesitation.

“Then what’s going on?” Davis presses. “What’s wrong with him? He looks like he’s seen a ghost at all hours of the day, or like some starving orphan child. I don’t think he could look any worse if he had AI- he doesn’t have _AIDS_ , does he?”

“No, no, Elders, please!” McKinley jumps up, hands held out in placation. “Elder Price is not sick, he’s not crazy, and he’s not dying! It’s… something else. Something really serious.”

“What _is_ it?”

“I… I can’t tell you. Yet, anyway. I need to… to do a little research, and see what the options are, but…” Elder McKinley straightens his shoulders. “It has come to my attention that we haven’t been treating Elder Price with the respect and affection he deserves as a valued member of this district. Now, I don’t care what your reasons are; I just want to see better behavior out of all of you. While we’re here, we are each other’s _family_ , and family is good to each other.” Elder Church raises his eyebrows, and McKinley scrambles to correct himself. “Well, they should be. Elder Price is no less deserving of support than anyone else here, and I want everyone’s behavior to reflect that; do you understand?”

Maybe some of them are less than pleased; he’s almost sure he sees an eye roll or two, but his eyes are clouded with unshed tears and he just _really_ needs this meeting to be over with, so he puts on a smile and gives them all the day off. _If I’m going to go cry in my room,_ he thinks, _it’s not exactly fair that I make them work, now is it?_

*****

Of course, he’s sharing the room with Elder Price now, but the man takes one look at him and then leaves; a moment later, Elder McKinley can hear him retching in the bathroom, and the tears come too easily.

*****

“Elder Hatimbi! Just the person I was coming to see? Could I possibly borrow you for a minute?” Elder McKinley beams brightly at Mafala, very purposely not drawing attention to where Elder Cunningham and the man’s daughter have begun shamelessly flirting. But Mafala just laughs, clasps McKinley’s shoulder, and tells his daughter to be safe before pulling the door of his house closed behind him. McKinley’s found that, while he puts on an act of being overprotective, he’s actually pretty liberal in the care of his daughter, so long as her life isn’t in danger. It was sweet and strangely refreshing the time he accidentally walked in on him demonstrating to her the right way to put on a condom, almost as much as it was for him to be pulled into the lesson himself. When he asked Mafala why he was so determined that she do it right (with his cheeks burning, but a perfectly protected squash in his hands), the man had laughed and said “I may have AIDS, but, God willing, my Nabulungi never will.”

“Elder McKinley, what can I do for you?” he asks, McKinley is pulled firmly back to the present.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid I need you to make a trip with me to Kampala” he says, fiddling with the thin linen of his uniform shirt. “One of the elders has run into a… a situation, which… well, I’m sure it has legal ramifications. I really need you to come with me to help find the laws. I know it’s a huge inconvenience, but I wouldn’t trust a translator or a guide for… this sort of thing.”

If he was expecting a negative reaction, he doesn’t get one; Mafala just rocks back onto his heels and asks “What is it you need to know, Elder?”

“Well…” _There’s really no way to put this delicately, is there?_ “I need to find out the exact punishment for homosexual activity in Uganda.” Any issues with it involving an authority figure and religious violation can be figured out _after_ he knows what Elder Price could be facing.

“A felony charge, with a minimum of seven years in prison.”

Elder McKinley gasps. “What- how? How do you _know_ that?”

Mafala cracks a wry grin. “A house of white boys moves into the neighborhood with no supervision; I had to be prepared.”

“But… but none of us are _gay_!”

“...aren’t you?”

Elder McKinley’s face is on fire. “No! It’s against the rules of the church!”

Mafala frowns. “Elder McKinley, have you not been reading the prophet’s latest works? Just last month he preached about the power of love, and… opposite attractions. Oh, but you were in Kampala. You and Elder Price, both of you…” He sighs. “That prophet of ours, he may be the voice of God, but he has a piss-poor sense of timing.” He laughs, and Elder McKinley is dumbfounded.

 _What about me and Elder Price?_ he wants to ask, because why is he saying they needed to be there unless he knows? but he needs to stay focused.

“Well,” he mutters, “what our prophet says does not change the laws, and… and even if something is _right_ , that doesn’t mean everyone will see it that way. But it sounds like I’m going to need to have a _serious_ discussion with Elder Cunningham.”

In reply, Mafala shrugs. “We have all talked to him,” he says. “We said that, since our religion is so new, perhaps it would be best to not say such controversial things straight out of the gate, but he would not bend. He was very determined that we add that rule to the commandments he wants to put in his book.”

“He wants to put it in the _Book of Arnold?_ ”

Mafala beams. “See? He is very serious about it.”

Elder McKinley is left speechless. What is he supposed to say? He’s almost completely sure that Arnold did it for Elder Price, but he wouldn’t change the tenants of his religion for one person, would he? _Maybe he would. It is Arnold, after all._

“Well,” he says. “I… um. I’m afraid I forgot what I was going to say”

“You were asking me about the laws for an elder who is homosexual but not gay,” Mafala helpfully reminds him.

“Yes, I… a felony? Are you sure?” Elder McKinley feels his throat closing up, and he frantically tries to turn his anxiety off before it gets out of control.

Mafala’s face falls. “I’m afraid so,” he says. “The law is bullshit; they say that gays will destroy the Ugandan family, but they do not see that no other country in the world has that problem. But it could be worse. You could die.”

McKinley's breath catches. “...well, yes, death is… always an option.”

“No, no; I mean, luckily for your elder, the government has struck down the law which says homosexual behavior is punishable with death.”

“Punishable with _death_?” Somewhere behind the panic, Elder McKinley is rather impressed with Mafala’s knowledge of a legal issue which most likely doesn’t affect him or anyone else in the village, as far as he knows, but the idea that Elder Price could pay for what he’s done with his _life_ is his first priority at the moment, and he’s gasping for breath before he even realizes the words are out of his mouth. He tells himself to take deep breaths, that it isn’t the law anymore, that no one is going to turn him in, that he will be safe, but he can’t, he _can’t_ , because what if he isn’t? What if somebody does? What if the law gets put back in place and he gets caught? What if somebody hurts him? What if-

He thinks Mafala’s hands are on his shoulders, and maybe he’s saying something, but Elder McKinley can’t- he can’t hear him past the blood rushing in his ears, and he tries to tell him so but the words come out as nonsense, warped by the tears stealing his breath away. He can’t _breathe_ , his lungs constricting and taking nothing in but emptiness and failure and fear and no, no! Elder McKinley has to- he can’t just- there has to be something, he can’t handle another person _leaving_ him!

He can’t. He has to do something. He has to do _something._ He- he can’t if he’s not breathing. _Breathe, McKinley. Breathe, damn it. You can’t help anyone if you’re dead._

He gulps in air, and the burning in his lungs starts to ease. _You can’t help anyone if you’re dead,_ he repeats, his old motto, even older than ‘turn it off’, slowly coming back to him. _You are not allowed to die._

His eyes are closed, but he doesn’t dare open them yet. What caused this? Mafala. He said something about- about the law. Elder Price. He’s with… who’s watching Elder Price? Something tightens in his chest until he remembers that he and Elder Poptarts were on breakfast duty, and that they’ll probably arrive at the Hatimbi house any moment now. That, out of everything, is what opens his eyes, what gets him standing straight again, what has him putting himself back together under Mafala’s worried gaze.

“I… I’m fine,” he says shakily. “Just a panic attack. I haven’t had one that bad in a while. I’m sorry.”

Mafala’s hand doesn’t leave his shoulder. “Would you like to come inside?” he asks, leading McKinley to the door before he can answer. “You do not look well.”

Elder McKinley’s hand comes up to wipe his eyes, and he chuckles. “I’m sure I look awful,” he says. “You’re right; I should probably get cleaned up.”

After all, he can’t let Elder Price see him break.

*****

The options are limited, he thinks, as sleep refuses to come that night: if anything goes to the police, Elder Price could be arrested alongside the mission president, and that’s not going to happen. If they go to the church, the entire story comes out and the district gets shut down. If Elder Price refuses to go back to Kampala, the mission president will shut down the district anyway, and probably have Elder Price arrested, and if he does go back… well.

Any and all alternatives that McKinley will let himself accept end with the mission being shut down. After all their hard work, and the good they’ve done for the village here, it seems like such a defeat… and it lets everything that Elder Price has done go to waste. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth when McKinley even thinks about it, both about how the only reason they’re here is because of what Elder Price did and how it will have all been for nothing if they leave, but what other choice do they have?

For a moment, Elder McKinley lets himself think that telling Elder Price to go back would be the easiest solution; a district leader must be practical, and the loss of one is worth saving all the others. He recoils from the thought faster than anything he’s ever thought before. His elders are not things he can just play with to get the highest possible gain. Elder Price is no bargaining chip.

But… maybe… maybe someone else could be. Maybe the mission president doesn’t have a preference as to who finishes out the deal. If it’s just an elder he wants…

Elder McKinley gets out of bed, feet silently carrying him to stand in front of the mission house’s only mirror. He’s not… _un_ attractive, not really, he thinks as he surveys his reflection. A little plain, of course, with too much of a baby face to look handsome or authoritative. His eyes are a little too close together, and he’s got a bit of a stomach that he has to hide with a strategically placed belt, and there’s a strange red roughness on his cheeks that he’s never been able to get rid of. But he’s always neat, and his hair is vibrantly red and waves the way he wants it to most days, and he does have a nice smile, and very blue eyes. He’s certainly no Elder Price, but who is?

He’s passable enough for a blowjob, at least.

He smiles at his reflection in the mirror; he may have just found a plan that will work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos/comments, or message me at my tumblr (greerian)!


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, things don't stay in their boxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, basically all previous triggers apply, but with added description of severe anxiety, dark conversations, and abuse of medicine (Connor overuses it). Also, please don't read this if you're emotionally not in a good place. This chapter may cause some emotional reactions.
> 
> Sorry it took so long. I hope you enjoy it!

“Elder McKinley? It’s good to hear from you. How are things in District Nine?”

Elder McKinley’s hand twists itself in the cord of the phone. “Everything’s just fine, sir, but I have a… a request.”

The mission president pauses. “Oh?” he says, and his tone makes McKinley’s shoulders tense. He has to be very, very careful about what he says if he wants to pull this off, and the stakes are too high for him to lose.

“Sir, I was just wondering if, by any chance, I could deliver this month’s report in place of Elder Price.”

“Why, Elder? Is there a problem?”

The cord wraps tighter around his wrist. “No, sir, but Elder Price is feeling a little under the weather, and I... the doctor here has forbidden him from any, um, strenuous activity for the next two weeks.” Gotswana has said no such thing, and the next report will come at the very end of two weeks, but he can’t very well push the lie back further or _say_ it’s just because Elder Price looks awful and he can’t put him through this again.

“Did Elder Price tell you _exactly_ what the final report will entail?”

Elder McKinley bites his lip, and makes a mental note to ask later. “Yes, sir.”

“You still want to take his place?” The mission president sounds intrigued. _Well, that’s better than I expected. Maybe I can actually do this._

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Come to Kampala at Elder Price’s usual time, and we’ll finish off our deal. Make sure you come prepared.”

The skin of his hand is almost bloodless now, crisscrossed by the telephone cord, with patches of fiery hot redness in between where the blood is still pulsing. Elder McKinley watches it with a sort of morbid fascination. He almost wishes it would hurt, but he can’t feel a thing.

“Yes, sir. But, may I ask something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why… I mean, does it not matter to you which one of us finishes out the deal?”

The man hums thoughtfully. “That’s an excellent question, Elder. I won’t say I haven’t enjoyed my time with Elder Price, but he hasn’t had the same spirit all the way through. And his failure to follow instructions was very frustrating. I know that he said something to you, Elder, to keep you from joining us that one day, and that is not acceptable.” His words are delivered in a reasonable tone, as if he’s giving a critique of an actual report. It makes McKinley’s skin crawl. “You, on the other hand, have always been rather good at following the rules, haven’t you, Elder McKinley? According to your bishop’s report, you’ve learned to… what is the phrase? Turn it off?”

McKinley thinks he may gasp; he’s not really sure what’s happening right now. _How does he…?_ Of course he knows that the mission president has a file on him, but he didn’t think the man would actually read it. And he certainly didn’t think it would ever be used against him. _Wait, what if it says something about my g-_

“Now, it says here that you were having some problems with gay thoughts, and same-sex attraction; how awful. But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Why on earth would an elder who has had past struggles with homosexuality volunteer to take another’s place as a _slut_ for his mission president?”

Elder McKinley can’t breathe.

“You may say that you’re doing this for Elder Price,” the man says, “but you and I both know the real reason you called me today. When you come to Kampala, I expect you to be prepared to tell me exactly how much you want this.

“I never made Elder Price do anything like that; all other indiscretions aside, lying is still a sin that must be avoided, and I didn’t want him to damn himself further. He tried to tell me he wanted me, in the beginning, though I knew he was lying. There was a sort of appeal to knowing that he hated what he was doing, but disgust isn’t nearly as nice as desire.”

“Wh-why are you telling me this?”

“So you’ll enjoy yourself more, of course. This is a special opportunity for you. Your first gay experience within the church is going to be with three other men, while on your mission. Not many other boys get a chance like this, Elder McKinley. I want you to know how grateful you should be that I’m letting you take Elder Price’s place.”

Elder McKinley wants to fight it. He doesn’t want this, and he’s not doing this for selfish reasons at all. He’s not _gay_. But the mission president could call everything off if he makes one misstep. In this situation, Elder McKinley is absolutely helpless. He thinks he’s starting to understand how Elder Price feels.

“I am grateful, sir.”

And if there’s a little bit of truth in the statement, at least it’s not for the reason the mission president thinks.

*****

Poptarts finds him half an hour later, his back to the wall and pant legs hanging in his face as he huddles in the closet of the room they used to share. Only Poptarts would know to look here; it’s where McKinley likes to go when the hell dreams are particularly bad. It’s safe, if cramped and musty, having walls on three sides, and Poptarts understands.

“Hey there,” he says, sliding in to sit next to him.

“Is it lunch time already?” McKinley asks, trying to put on a smile. He’s curled up in the fetal position, though, clutching his knees to his chest, so he’s not really sure it matters.

Poptarts nods. “The others were wondering where you went.”

“I’m just- um.”

“It’s okay,” Poptarts says. “You’ve been looking kind of tired lately, so I told them you were napping.”

“Thank you,” McKinley says, leaning his head back against the wall. Heavenly Father bless Poptarts.

“Um… are you going to tell anyone what’s going on?”

Or maybe not. Elder McKinley sighs and sits up straight again, carefully unfolding his arms and legs until he’s sitting criss-cross, and the inside of the closet becomes a little too snug. “There’s really nothing to tell, Elder,” he replies. And it’s not completely a lie; it’s not his story to tell.

Poptarts frowns. “You don’t normally do this in the middle of the day.”

“I know.”

“And you’ve been really quiet lately.”

“Have I?”

“And you still haven’t told me about why I had to move in with Elder Cunningham.”

“...oh. I forgot I promised you that.”

Elder Poptarts is not impressed. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But, Elder McKinley, we’re not just companions. We’re friends, right? You can talk to me, if you want.”

And that very simple sentence, ‘we’re friends’, somehow is the thing that brings tears to Elder McKinley’s eyes. He hasn’t had many friends since the Steve Blade incident, and none who would be willing to crawl into a dark closet and say it out like that. Besides, Poptarts is a kind, innocent soul, and even Elder McKinley can only turn it off for so long.

“Thank you,” he manages to choke out, and Poptarts’ hand slips around his far shoulder, drawing him in for an awkward half-hug. “You’re welcome,” he replies, honestly and earnestly, and Elder McKinley can’t help but want to tell him everything. He can’t say what Elder Price is doing, but it probably wouldn’t be hard to figure out what ‘favors for the mission president’ means.

“I can’t,” he whispers instead, clinging to Poptarts like he can give him the strength to keep going. “I can’t do it, Poptarts, I can’t… I don’t know if I can do it.”

“You can do it,” Poptarts replies. “You can do anything through Christ you gives you strength, Elder McKinley. And Elder Price will understand.”

McKinley pulls away just enough to look up at him. There’s no way Poptarts can know what he’s talking about, but, even so, it’s wonderfully encouraging. “You really think he will?”

“I’m sure of it. You’re just trying to help him, right? He’ll see why you’re being… well, a little pushy.”

“Why I’m-” _Oh._ Of course. Elder Poptarts doesn’t know what’s going on. Even if he did, he wouldn’t assume he’s going to take Elder Price’s place; nobody in their right mind would.

“You’re the district leader, Elder McKinley. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. I’m sure he understands.”

And Poptarts smiles at him, guileless and sweet and sincere, and Elder McKinley knows he can’t let the mission get shut down just because he let Elder Price mess up. He can’t let them down like that; he cares too much for them, all of them.

He takes a deep breath and nods, letting himself curl into Poptarts’ embrace while they’re both still here. “Thank you,” he says. “I… that means a lot.”

Poptarts’ chest rises and falls beneath him, soothing and slow, as one of his hands comes up to smooth McKinley’s hair. “Anytime, Elder.”

*****

“All right, Elders, I know you all have a lot of work to get to today, but I just wanted to make sure we’re all on board with the schedule for the next month.”

Elder McKinley gestures to the chore chart as the other elders crowd around, checking to see what their jobs are for the next four weeks, and he hopes that none of them see him shaking. He hasn’t breathed a word about his plan to anyone yet, so he hasn’t had to face Elder Price’s reaction. He hopes that the man won’t make a scene, seeing as everyone’s in the room together, but he really doesn’t know. The final trip to Kampala is scheduled for a week away, though, and, on the very slim chance that anyone would, he can’t have someone panicking and trying to follow him on the day of.

“Now, I need everyone to write down what they need from Kampala, and bring me your letters to home by the end of the week.”

“Uh, Elder McKinley?” Arnold asks, and for a second his eyes flick to Elder Price, who’s sitting by himself in one of the kitchen chairs. “Who’s all going to Kampala this time around?”

Elder McKinley takes a deep breath and puts on his brightest smile. “I’ll be going alone.”

Elder Price is on his feet in an instant. “No!”

Elder McKinley mimics him, crossing his arms firmly. “No?”

“You can’t.”

“I _can’t?_  Elder Price, do I need to remind you that I am your district leader and I therefore have authority over you, not the other way around?”

“But Elder McKinley, you don’t know what he’s-” He stops himself, looking around at the other elders, wide-eyed, and Elder McKinley interrupts.

“I know enough,” he says. “I know what it’s done to you, and I know it’s worth it.”

And… and Elder Price steps back. His eyes are wide and horrified, and Elder McKinley realizes he’s _disgusted_ with him. “I can’t believe you would do that to yourself,” he says, and Elder McKinley has to look away. But the hurt doesn’t last long. He’s been keyed up for days, jumping at the slightest sound; he hasn’t been able to sleep; Elder Price is ignoring him (and still not looking any better even though Elder McKinley is doing his best to make sure he eats); and he’s going to lose his virginity in a week to three men for the sake of someone who- who’s _Elder Price._ "You don’t get to say that,” he snaps. “You, of all people, don’t get to judge me after everything you’ve done.”

“But… you said that nobody should do it. That it didn’t need to be done.”

“Yes, well, things change.”

“So you’re going to do it yourself? Why not just send me back? I can take it.”

The others’ heads swing back and forth as they watch the argument, but Elder McKinley can’t bring himself to try and confront Elder Price alone. Besides, it’s not like the walls of the mission house would muffle the sound of fighting, anyway.

“No, you can’t,” he says, and he doesn’t bother to make it sound soft. “You were in awful shape; don’t pretend that you weren’t.”

“But I can do this!” Elder Price cries. “This is what I do, I’m good at it. I told you, I’ve done it before. It’s who I am.”

“It is _not_ who you are, Elder. You know that isn’t true. You know what that kind of thinking has done to you.”

Elder Price sets his jaw, and McKinley only has a second to think before he mutters “I’m fine,” with a desperate ferocity.

 

Elder McKinley slaps him.

 

The pain takes a moment to set into McKinley’s palm, and in that moment, he sees Elder Price’s eyes go blank. His own face is burning, and there’s blood rushing through him faster than an overflowing river, and maybe he’s on the verge of insanity but it’s not his fault; it’s Elder Price. Everything is Elder Price, now.

“I told you I’d do it,” Elder McKinley spits out, both hands balled into fists. “If you said that one more time, I told you what would happen.”

“I… I know,” Elder Price mumbles; his gaze is lowered, so McKinley can’t see his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Elder McKinley asks. “Are you really? Because you shouldn’t be. You should just stop. Just… stop.” He makes himself take a deep breath. “It wasn’t your fault. And I’m trying to make up for it.”

“If it’s not my fault, it’s not yours, either,” Elder Price replies.

“That- that’s not how it works.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this.”

“Neither should you.” Elder McKinley’s hands relax enough for him to straighten his shirt and his tie, and he starts to feel a little more professional. But his palm still stings. “No one _should_ have to, but someone does. It just so happens that I’m the district leader, and it’s my job to… to facilitate the district’s relationship with the mission president. That’s all it is.”

“No,” Elder Price says. “That’s not all it is. You know it isn’t. I told you it isn’t. You think that’s it until you’re there and it’s happening, and that’s _not_ all it is. You don’t understand, Elder McKinley. It’s… you don’t understand.”

“Well.” Elder McKinley swallows, and puts his district leader smile back on. “I can’t help if I don’t understand.”

Elder Price looks like he’s been punched in the gut.

“All right, then,” Elder McKinley says, turning his back on him. “Is there anything else we need to discuss before we all head back out?”

Elder Church raises his hand.

“Yes, Elder?”

“What on Heavenly Father’s green earth was _that_ _?_ ”

“I… um. Nothing, Elder Church. Any other questions?”

There are no other questions.

*****

Connor McKinley is prepared as he walks into the Kampala temple. There’s lube and condoms in his pocket (because like _heck_ is he going to let this give him an STD), his rear is still a little sore from the intense stretching he gave it last night, followed up by another round this morning, and there’s not a thought in his head except his ever-repeating mantra _turn it off_. Well, and _you can’t help anyone if you’re dead_ , but it’s not like he’s going to die from this experience. He stops, halfway between the front doors and the mission president’s office, taking a deep breath to prepare himself. _Remember_ , he tells himself, _whatever you have to say or do, it’s for Elder Price. And the district._

He puts on a bright smile, and goes to knock on the door.

*****

McKinley wishes he could say it’s not awful. He wishes he could say he still has some dignity left when he stumbles out of the mission president’s office with a come-spattered admission of pardon in his hands. He wishes that he could go back in time and stop himself and Elder Price from ever coming to Kampala the first time, or even somehow prevent Elder Price and Elder Cunningham from ever arriving in Uganda in the first place. But it is, and he doesn’t, and he can’t.

He goes back to the hotel room he booked for the night before and curls up on the bed, not even caring that there’s come and lube and probably blood soaking through his clothes onto the sheets; the hotel has probably seen worse. He doesn’t cry, not even when he thinks of the bus ride back, of having to get off the bus and look Elder Price in the eye, having to look any of them in the eye. He tells himself he did it for them; it doesn’t make the thought any easier. But it does get him up and into the shower, checked out and outside and ready when the daily bus for the northern Uganda region pulls up to its stop.

For the first time, he can’t manage to smile at the weary bus driver, and he wants nothing more than to cringe away from the woman who presses firmly up next to him in the farthest back seat, bouncing a baby in her lap. She has two more children with her, little boys who run screaming up and down the aisle of the bus until she screams something at them too fast for him to understand, and they’re still and quiet beside her in a matter of seconds. The baby, by contrast, isn’t fussy at all, merely sucking its thumb as it watches the world speed by. Something in Elder McKinley’s stomach twists as their eyes meet, and he half-heartedly waves to it. To his surprise, the baby waves back.

“Oh, my apologies, sir,” the woman says in smooth English. “Amelia doesn’t know what she sees yet; she’ll probably stare all the way to Kitguli.”

Elder McKinley straightens with a jolt. “You’re going to Kitguli?” he asks, the words slipping out before he can think to be afraid. It’s not good to speak to strangers here, and his throat still throbs and aches, but he’s so, so tired and he just- this woman seems nice enough.

“Yes,” she answers, “to stay with my brother, Ghali.”

“I didn’t know Elder Ghali had a sister,” he answers, trying to smile. He’s a little doubtful of her claim, seeing as Ghali is a small, thin man with skin on the pale side and this woman is, well, just about the exact opposite, but if she’s telling the truth then there’s no need for him to be on guard; Elder Ghali is one of most cheerful, if not the kindest, of the native Arnoldian church members.

She scoffs. “What is this ‘elder’ bullshit? He is the baby of the family.”

McKinley’s face falls. He’s certainly not going to be the one to reveal Ghali’s conversion to his family if the man hadn’t said anything himself.

“But yes, I am his older sister. His brother and I were married, but now it is just me and my kids.” She doesn’t sound upset or happy about it, merely resigned. For a moment, McKinley is jealous. “Who are you?” she asks, turning towards him as much as her wide hips allow.

“I am Elder McKinley” he replies automatically, “of the Church of J- Arnold.”

“Oh, a missionary!” she says. “That explains why you’re going to Kitguli! No one in their right mind would leave Kampala for a butt-fuck town like Kitguli.”

The profanity brings a stifled grin to his lips, and he’s surprised at himself. He didn’t think he’d be able to smile so soon after- well.

“Yes, ma’am, I am a missionary.”

“Hmpf, I didn’t think Kitguli was so friendly to outsiders. And what about the warlords? Have you been threatened yet?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am, but things are going j-just fine now.” Now that he’s got a signed admission of pardon, anyway. “The main warlord for our area has joined our faith, so we haven’t had any, um, disturbances for six months or so.”

The woman actually picks herself up to turn and fully face him at that, and he leans away from her intense stare. “Six months?” she says. “Six months with no warlord craziness in northern Uganda? Because of your… religion?”

“Um, yes, ma’am?” He doesn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but she is very loud, and now half the people on the bus are looking over at them, and leaning back the way he is does take pressure off of certain uncomfortable places but also makes him feel like he’s being bent in half and _that_ is not very nice at all.

“Huh,” she replies, sitting back with a huff. “That’s one hell of a religion.”

He smiles despite himself, settling back into his seat. “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

“Tell us about it.”

He freezes in place. “I beg your pardon?”

“Tell us about this religion of yours,” the woman repeats, throwing out her arm towards the rest of the bus. “We have hours before we will get anywhere, and anything that could convince a warlord has to be interesting.”

McKinley sneaks a quick peek around her at the other passengers. They don’t look… angry, at least. Not particularly intrigued, but, well, this is a perfect opportunity to witness, isn’t it?

He doesn’t _want_ to, not at all, but there are people’s eyes on him, ready to listen, and isn’t that the point of his mission, to get the gospel to those who need it most? So what if he’s in pain and would rather curl up under the seats with the filth of the bus floor; as soon as he landed in Uganda, he forfeited the right to his personal comfort.

And what good is saving the district if he doesn’t give of himself to further its cause?

So he starts to share the Book of Arnold with Ghali’s sister, and the other people on the bus. He fumbles at first, the familiar phrasing of sacred text not lending itself well to pop culture references, but he gets into it quickly enough, and when he stands, mimicking Elder Price standing up to the general the way he had, he sees that every pair of eyes in the bus in on him.

“And then, Prophet Cunningham said ‘Joseph Smith torpedoes will come forth from the mouth of Christ and turn you, foul demon, into a _lesbian!_ ’ And with that, the horrible General Butt-fucking-Naked ran away, in awe of the power of Heavenly Father shining from our prophet’s eyes!”

There is dead silence.

“...didn’t you say that warlord became part of your religion?” Ghali’s sister asks, and to McKinley’s relief, she sounds breathless with anticipation. “What happened?”

“Well, that’s the really beautiful part, isn’t it?” Elder McKinley says, softly, carefully measuring his next words. “Heavenly Father will forgive the transgressions of those who ask.” _Even if they bend over for their mission presidents, I hope_. He closes his eyes for just a moment, clearing his throat, and then puts on a smile again. _Everyone loves a happy ending_.

“So, the next week, after our Prophet spoke with God and confirmed that we were still needed here in Uganda, we were having a worship service, and we heard a knock at the door. Who could it be? We wondered. Everyone we knew who had joined the church was present.

“When I opened it, General Butt -we call him Elder B now, because profanity is not part of the good life Heavenly Father wants for us- was there, without his weapons or ammunition or anything threatening, and he asked to speak with Prophet Cunningham. We, the others elders and sisters and I, were very worried, because while we knew our prophet couldn’t be killed by earthly means, we didn’t know if the warlord had any of Satan’s power on hand. But the general, he just walked right up to him, in the middle of our service, and he knelt down, and he said he wanted to give his life to Heavenly Father.” There is an audible gasp, and suddenly there’s a hand grabbing his arm.

“It is a miracle,” Ghali’s sister says earnestly; there are tears in her eyes.

Was it really a miracle? Is that how miracles look today, out here? Elder McKinley must be too used to hearing about healings, about turning water into wine, about redirecting the path of a bullet aimed for the heart of a man faithful to God. But it really is, isn’t it? A heart of stone made soft and receptive and childlike in the presence of Heavenly Father, revealed through Star Trek and the fear of female genitalia.

He wants to laugh; Arnold had looked so lost when the general kneeled before him. There was nothing holy about the moment itself. Just a man, no, a murderer, a _rapist_ , on his knees on the dusty ground of a rundown hut, in the middle of a group of people terrified of his existence and some innocent, white-faced boys who had no idea what was going on. But, somehow, Arnold had straightened up, and pulled the warlord back to his feet, and said that if he wanted to belong to Heavenly Father, all he had to do was ask. And, miraculously, he did.

“It is,” he replies. “It was a miracle.”

The bus erupts in celebration.

*****

Technically Elder McKinley can’t bring these people into the church; technically they need to be baptized. Technically, everything about this mission is twisted and wrong and against church doctrine. But that doesn’t really matter, does it?

He is no longer a Latter-Day Saint, and the Church of Arnold’s rules are nowhere near as limiting.

So he prays, taking the hands of every person who reaches out, and he blesses them, and gives their souls into the hands of Heavenly Father, and he ‘baptizes’ them with a few drops from his water bottle and there’s a light in every person’s eyes that makes him feel something he’s not sure he likes. It hurts, bending over and walking around so much, but he saves enough of his water to take some extra strength Tylenol he grabbed in Kampala before anything had happened. He takes more than he’s supposed to, he knows, but the pills are so lovely, the way they dull everything. He talks to complete strangers without a care in the world, he smiles at them and lets them touch him without tensing, and the best part of all? He can hardly feel a thing.

*****

Elder McKinley stumbles off the bus when it finally arrives in Kitguli, and would have eaten a nice healthy serving of dust if it hadn’t been for someone catching him, their arms slipping under his and pulling him upright again. It’s only because of the exhaustion that he’s so clumsy (single-handedly converting an eager group of Ugandans required more energy than he gained from his restless two hours of sleep) but even the pain killers can’t quite hide the sharp twinge that shoots up his spine as he straightens up, flinching just as he meets his companion’s eyes.

“Hello,” he says, pulling away a moment too late.

“Elder McKinley, what did you _do_?” Poptarts asks. His eyes are wide and scared, and for a split second McKinley confuses the soft hazel with the vibrant, brilliant brown of Elder Price’s eyes.

“Elder Price,” he says, “is he okay?”

Poptarts’ face hardens at that, and he pulls away, leaving McKinley to sway precariously for a moment. “He hasn’t come out of his room except to go to the bathroom since you left,” he replies. “He looks awful, and Arnold won’t tell us what’s going on. And now I come to see you, and you… What’s wrong with you?”

Elder McKinley laughs, and when his knees buckle he grabs onto Poptarts’ shoulders and just keeps laughing. “There’s so, so much wrong with me,” he says. It doesn’t matter now, everyone can see it. Everyone knows there’s something wrong with him. Why doesn’t he just say it? “You know I’m- I’m deviant, don’t you?”

It’s only after he’s being pushed away again that he realizes his companion had tensed in his grip. He really should have learned to not touch people whenever he feels like it by now. This stupid medication… making everything all fuzzy. He’s so tired… Why won’t Poptarts just stay still?

“Is that what this is about?” Poptarts asks. _Is he angry?_ There’s a tenseness to his mouth, his lips pinched and thin, and McKinley recognizes the distinct look of disapproval in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” McKinley replies, looking away. “I-”

“No,” Poptarts says sharply. “What happened in Kampala? What did you do?”

What happened in Kampala… Better yet, what happened on the way _from_ Kampala? “I converted almost twenty people,” he says. Huh. Did he really? He looks back at the bus, which is much farther away than he remembers it being, and sees Ghali’s sister waiting patiently with her two little boys and the baby. “Oh,” he says, “I promised her I’d… Will you excuse me for a moment? I need to walk Elder Ghali’s sister to his house.”

“You…” Poptarts blinks. “You can hardly walk, and you’re going to escort her halfway across the village?”

“I can walk,” McKinley protests, and in return Poptarts gives him a shove. He almost falls over.

“Are you sure about that?” he asks, taking ahold of McKinley’s arm to keep him upright. “Go back to the mission house, Elder. I can help with Ghali’s family.”

Elder McKinley has to think it through, blinking slowly, but then he finds himself smiling. “Would you?” he asks. “Thank you, Poptarts.”

His companions’ firm grip loosens, and before he realizes it, he’s being wrapped in a warm hug. It’s surprisingly gentle, even for Poptarts, and McKinley forgets for a moment why he doesn’t want to be touched. “Head back to the house,” Poptarts murmurs, “and take a nap, if you can. You look exhausted.”

McKinley smiles. “The new converts?”

“Oh. Um… I’ll talk to them.”

“And you… you’ll take Ghali’s sister home?”

“Yes, Elder McKinley.”

McKinley sighs, allowing himself to hope for a split second that Poptarts will be able to fix everything, and that when he wakes up from his nap, when the medication wears off and he can think clearly again, that everything will be okay. “Thank you so much.”

*****

The trip back to the mission hut is slow going, and when he finally arrives all the elders just stare at him with wide eyes, like he’s some sort of alien creature or monster they’re afraid to touch. He’s this close to shivering under the scrutiny, but somehow he can still pretend not to mind. He tells them he’s going to go rest, and that he made a sizable group of converts, and to ask Poptarts about them so they could… what comes next in the conversion process? He looks to Elder Cunningham, but Elder Cunningham just reaches out towards him, stopping a few inches away and letting his hand awkwardly hover over Elder McKinley’s arm. “I think you should get some sleep,” he says.

Elder McKinley shakes his head. “Elder Thomas said the same thing,” he answers, averting his gaze. “How bad do I look?”

No one answers.

“Well. I need to check on Elder Price first anyway. I thank you for your concern, elders.”

He makes it to the entrance of the hallway before he hears a noise behind him. He turns; Elder Davis is standing, and he takes a step forward with a frown.

“What happened in Kampala?” he asks. “Something’s been wrong for months, and we want to know what it is.”

McKinley almost laughs. Of course it would be Davis who speaks up; he’s the most… determined of all the elders, to say the least. He is surprised, though, by the way the others seem to be rallying behind him.

“Elders, I don’t-”

“Mormons don’t lie,” Elder Neeley reminds him coldly. “We’ve all had enough of this.”

McKinley’s breath hitches, and he instinctively takes a step back. “All of you?” he asks.

The five elders before him nod, even Elder Cunningham, with his wide eyes and concerned frown. They all look so much older, now, with worried creases in their brows; he feels like a child in front of them.

Elder McKinley reaches desperately for the wall behind him, and holds onto it for dear life. What on earth is he supposed to say? He looks to the ground, forcing himself to take a deep breath. They know, or they’re about to. Is there any way to make it sound less awful than it really was?

 _Wait_. Elder Cunningham knows some of it. He knows enough.

“Elder Cunningham,” he says, scrambling to find some sort of authority to put into the command. “Please tell the elders the nature of our… issue with the mission president.”

Cunningham gasps. “What? No, I…”

“You knew?” Davis asks, turning on him. “How many people know what’s going on?”

“No, I don’t!” he squeaks. “I really don’t. Kevin just- I mean, Elder Price, did something, and… and I didn’t really know why. But Elder McKinley does.”

Another deep breath. And another. Elder Price is only two rooms away. If he can get there, he can relax for just enough time to get his composure back, and maybe come up with some acceptable excuse. Just… he needs to get to Elder Price.

“I-” he starts; his voice cracks. “I’ll be right back.” Before anyone can try and stop him, he makes his escape.

*****

McKinley shuts the door too hard when he comes in, and Elder Price’s shoulders twitch. That’s the only reaction he gets, though; Price is curled up in bed, with his back to the door, and he doesn’t turn to acknowledge him.

“El- elder Price?” McKinley feels like he’s run a hundred miles, with his chest heaving and his heart racing the way they are, and he’s not sure he can make it over to the other side of the room to make Elder Price face him. He was so tired, so numb only a moment ago, and now it’s like every beat of his heart sends needles of pain shooting throughout his body. But he needs to see his face; he needs to make sure that he’s okay. If someone asked, he wouldn’t be able to say why, but that doesn’t exactly change anything, does it?  “Elder Price, is something wrong?”

Nothing.

“Elder Price, please-”

“Why did you do that.”

McKinley sighs shakily. Elder Price’s voice is hoarse, like he hasn’t used it in a while, but that’s to be expected, if Elder Thomas was telling the truth, at the bus station. At least he’s okay; that’s all that matters.

“You know why,” he replies softly. The relief he feels hits him like an ocean wave, and his knees suddenly threaten to collapse beneath him. He leans up against the wall, trying to get his breathing back under control, and Elder Price sighs.

“What do you want?” he asks, still facing the opposite wall. “Do you want me to thank you?”

“What?” McKinley asks numbly.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Elder Price says.

It takes a moment for Elder McKinley to find something to say in reply. “I know,” he admits. “But surely you understand-”

“I don’t.”

 _You did it yourself,_ McKinley wants to retort. _You tried to be self-sacrificing, and this is where it got you. You of all people should know why I- no. Turn it off._

“I just came to check on you, Elder,” he says evenly. “Poptart said that you didn’t participate in normal mission activities during my trip.”

Elder Price’s shoulders tense, and he doesn’t reply.

McKinley tries to breathe, to get something in his lungs other than this growing panic climbing its way up his throat; it’s like he’s being forced beneath the surface of a frigid lake and held there until his mouth opens and his lungs fill with filthy, deadly, dark water.

“I-” he starts, “I’m going to go rest. It was a rather stressful trip, as I’m sure you guessed.”

There’s still no answer, and Elder McKinley almost runs out of the room.

*****

Curled up on Poptarts’ bed (he hopes his companion won’t mind), he tries to read the Book of Arnold; the stories are too ridiculous to hold his focus. When he picks up his old Book of Mormon, his mind refuses to recognize the words. He’s so tired, but every breath comes hard and sharp and fast, and he _hurts_ everywhere. Laying on his stomach is the least painful position, he finds, but it still only helps so much, and he has no idea how long it’s been since he started trying to sleep when the door slowly creaks open.

“Elder McKinley?” Poptarts whispers. McKinley’s head is turned away, but at this point he recognizes his companion’s voice, even when toneless.

He tries to lift a hand in acknowledgment, but his muscles are too weak. “I’m awake,” he replies instead.  
Poptarts sighs, closing the door. Without saying another word, he walks around to Arnold’s bed, sitting on the side and facing Elder McKinley. He shucks his shoes, then sits criss-cross on the edge.

“Elder McKinley,” he says, the warning of a lecture in his tone; McKinley closes his eyes.

“Did you take care of Ghali’s sister?” he asks, desperate to avoid the conversation that’s sure to come.

“I did,” Poptarts replies. “But I need to say something. Do you know what you looked like when you got off the bus?”

As much as he can with half of his face smushed against his pillow, McKinley shakes his head.

“You looked drunk,” Poptarts continues bluntly. “You looked like you spent a night out partying and getting drunk. I want to believe that you’re better than that, but… you and Elder Price have been to Kampala a lot, and-”

“You think I’ve been going for _fun_?”

Poptarts suddenly looks ill at ease. “Well, I didn’t know exactly why you’ve been going so often,” he says. “You said reports for the mission president, but I-”

“You think I’ve been partying?”

Poptarts looks away. “Elder McKinley…”

McKinley laughs into his pillow. After everything he’s done, the things he’s sacrificed, his own companion thinks that he’s been, what, clubbing in the city?

“And what do you think happened with Elder Price?” he asks. “How do you see this whole… mess?”

“I…” Poptarts starts, hesitant and quiet, “I thought that maybe… maybe the two of you went to celebrate after winning the mission president’s pardon, and… and during the following trips, Elder Price started to… overindulge. And you had to pull him back, and keep the mission president from sending him home.”

“So what did I do this time?” Elder McKinley asks, morbidly fascinated with this almost beautiful reality that Poptarts believes in.

“You… had to go pay off his debts, or something, and you…” Poptarts trails off. “I don’t know, but with the way the two of you were acting, I thought you had done something really bad there. And I’ve heard that alcohol can make you, um, more angry than usual, and with… what happened with Elder Price at the chore chart meeting…”

Elder McKinley closes his eyes. _Poptarts_ , he wants to ask, _how are you so blessedly innocent?_ Out of all the possible explanations for he and Price’s strange behavior, his companion thought that the reason he was falling apart was because he was going to the capital to party every month. Poptarts thought that McKinley slapped Elder Price because he was _drunk_.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits.

“I know, it’s… it’s really silly,” Poptarts replies, sounding abashed. “I don’t know why I thought that, really. But, Elder McKinley, you’re not in any trouble, are you?”

Slowly, Elder McKinley shakes his head.

Poptarts doesn’t reply, and an awkward silence falls over the bedroom.

If only it had been that easy; McKinley has heard about other missionaries who fail on their missions in that way. As soon as they get their first taste of freedom, those fresh-faced boys dive headfirst into the tantalizing cauldron of simmering worldly temptation, and some of them never get out. They get chastised by their mission presidents, sent home and punished appropriately, and then either fall back into line or cause a spectacular flurry of scandal and gossip when they leave the church and end up attending Utah State instead of BYU. That’s what he’d been on guard against, both in himself and in his charges, but no one ever told him that his elders might be too good, that one of them could have a self-sacrificing streak a mile wide and a new-found sense of guilt to boot, that that one could meet an unethical and lusty mission president and strike a deal that he, a turning-it-off, ordinary, unassuming, and incompetent district leader, would have to complete. Nobody told him that real life would be this complicated, and painful.

“Well, Elder McKinley, with all the time you two spent together, you can’t blame me for making some assumptions,” Poptarts says apologetically. “It sort of made sense, that the two of you were sneaking off to a bar in the city where you could be together, and you wouldn’t-”

“Be together?” McKinley interrupts, his eyes flying open. “Elder Poptarts, what are you talking about?”

Poptarts frowns. “Together,” he repeats, “as in… dating.”

Elder McKinley almost sits up in shock. “We’re… what? No, Elder, we- we’re doing no such thing,” he sputters.

“You’re not?” Poptarts asks. “So that wasn’t the reason why you always went together?”

“No!” McKinley cries.

Then Poptarts smiles, so brightly and full of relief that McKinley has to look away. “I was worried,” he admits. “Do you know what the punishment for homosexual activity is here? I was so afraid you were going to get caught.”

McKinley has to think for a moment as to why that’s unsettling.

“How do you know what the punishment is, Elder?” He’s sure he never told him, not with how worried he was about Elder Price and the mission president. Besides, mentioning a fact like that with no context could raise certain questions that Elder McKinley is unequipped to deal with.

“Oh. I, um, did some research before we arrived,” Poptarts replies; his hands twist nervously in his lap. “Elder McKinley, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I knew that you were dealing with some same sex attraction issues, so… I just wanted to know what could happen if you maybe slipped up.”

Well. Maybe there’s a part of him that’s offended that his companion has so little faith in him, but that part is overwhelmed by the rest of him, the part that is touched by the idea that his companion… well, Poptarts did for him what he’s trying to do for Elder Price, didn’t he?

McKinley has to blink back tears. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Shrugging a little, Poptarts just smiles. “You know I… I care about you, Elder McKinley.”

McKinley nods. He doesn’t deserve this; he doesn’t deserve such a sweet, selfless companion.

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to thank him again, maybe to send him away because if Poptarts stays and keeps being as kind as this maybe Elder McKinley will be tempted to tell him everything and he _can’t_ , but Elder Poptarts says,

“If you’re not… well, doing anything like that, though, then what’s going on? We’re all very confused, and it’s not fair to keep us in the dark like this.”

McKinley bites his lip. It’s strange… if they weren’t Mormons, and they weren’t on their missions, and they were going to college the way every other person their age was, and things hadn’t gone the way they did, maybe he’d want to tell Poptarts about losing his virginity. After all, isn’t that supposed to be a… well, not a good thing, but a right of passage, at least? And Poptarts is his best friend. If, though. There’s too many ‘if’s.

“I can’t say,” he replies. “But it’s over now.”

“...is it?”

McKinley nods. “None of us have to go back there again,” he says. _Thank Heavenly Father_.

Poptarts face falls. “Elder McKinley,” he says tentatively, “is… is this about Elder Price?”

McKinley laughs before he can stop himself. It hurts, shaking his body almost uncontrollably, but, really, what else is he going to do? It’s laugh or cry, now, and laughter is supposed to be the best medicine.

 _Isn’t everything?_ he almost says. “Yes,” he answers. “It is.”

There’s a crease between Poptarts’ eyebrows, narrowing his eyes and matching the turned down corners of his mouth, and he suddenly looks much older than nineteen.

“How do you feel about him?”

“I already told you there’s nothing between us.” What a ridiculous assumption; as if Elder Price would- no, _could_ ever…

“Is there anything that he doesn’t know about?”

McKinley looks at him, at a loss. Maybe Poptarts takes his answer from the silence, because his face softens, from concern to understanding, to… something, and then it smoothes out, expressionless, like he never meant to show anything at all.

“I don’t know what you mean,” McKinley answers, slowly, and Poptarts nods.

“That’s all right,” he replies softly. “I just… I think I understand anyway.”

Suddenly, Elder McKinley doesn’t want to know what he understands.

“I’m sorry,” he says, forcing himself up with a wince. “How rude of me, coming in and taking your bed without- I apologize, Elder, it’s-”

“No, it’s okay,” Poptarts says, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You can stay, if you’d rather sleep in here. It’s time for bed, anyway.”

McKinley meets his eyes. “Really?” he asks. He doesn’t know how he’d be able to sleep in the same room as Elder Price tonight, but Poptarts has already given him so much…

“Of course,” Poptarts replies. “And I’ll do something about Elder Cunningham, too.”

A room to himself for the night. “Thank you so much,” Elder McKinley replies, feeling pathetically grateful.

For a short moment, so fast that McKinley isn’t sure if he’s imagining things, Poptarts’ smile slips. “You’re welcome,” he says. “You know I- sleep well, Elder McKinley.”

*****

As much as he would like it to, life doesn’t stop for Elder McKinley, and his bus converts require a good deal of attention that he’s not sure he’s up to giving. But, once again, Poptarts is a better companion than he deserves, and throws himself into smoothing out all the trouble the impromptu baptisms made for the district. Elder Price apparently decides it’s time for him to act like a regular elder again, because he starts following Elder Cunningham around like a puppy, offering to do whatever he needs, regardless of how mundane it may be. Apparently, because he refuses to look at Elder McKinley, much less talk to him the way he did after his last trip to Kampala. McKinley misses him, misses the soft intimacy that his hasty words of comfort brought, and wishes that he could take Elder Price in his arms again (for his own comfort, this time; there’s a painful ache that surpasses the one the mission president and his assistants gave, and somehow he knows it will only be soothed by his embrace) but Elder Price stays far away, and Elder McKinley wraps his arms around himself as if it were twenty degrees outside and not eighty. Maybe this is the price he pays for playing the hero and trying to protect him.

He doesn’t regret it, though; not yet.

Elder Cunningham, for his part, has this helplessly confused look every time his companion offers to do something for him or hangs around, hovering over his shoulder, and has resorted to telling his companion to “go sit by that tree or something” so that he can finish conversations with other church members in peace.

It’s strange for McKinley to fall behind, to see all his elders suddenly becoming more competent and at ease with their positions than he is with his. He finds it awkward to delegate responsibilities for the day, to straighten his uniform before knocking on another front door, to smile and offer a copy of the Book of Arnold if they answer and to move on if they don’t. The familiar actions don’t seem to fit anymore, like he washed them on too hot a setting and now they’ve shrunk. And he’s not quite sure what to do with that. He tries to keep going, to turn it all off and make things go back to the way they were by sheer force of will, but more and more of his life starts to slip out of his control, and for the first time, completely and helplessly, he can’t.

It doesn’t help that the other elders are unquestionably against him. They follow his orders, but they’re reluctant, quiet, and almost, dare he say it, sullen about it. And none of them will look him in the eye. He tries to push down the feeling that they already _know_ , somehow, and stick it in its own little box, far away from the box where he should be, the one he needs to be in, with its safe walls keeping the fear and shame and debilitating mess of feelings out and proper missionary conduct in, but someone took the lid off the box, and everything is mixing itself together until he can’t distinguish right from wrong. Why can’t his mind just stay in its boxes? The boxes are there for a _reason_ , and he can’t just… what is he supposed to do when everything turns to chaos?

 

He arranges a trip to Palabek, the closest village to the south of Kitguli; over half of the new converts live there, and he did promise them a visit by the prophet of Arnoldism. That means sending Cunningham and Price, for sure, but he obviously can’t send two elders (and particularly not _those_ two elders) by themselves. He pushes down his desire to go with them; he may be a useless excuse for a district leader, but he’s still one for now, and he needs to stay in his district. Maybe getting Elder Price out of the house will be good for both of them. Maybe it will help Elder Price act like a person again, and maybe he’ll be able to stop wanting something that he’s sure only Elder Price can give.

He decides to send Elders Neeley and Michaels. They’re not the most confident or assertive pair, but Neeley is more sensible than anyone else in the district, and Michaels has a cheerful energy that rarely fails to bring people to his side. Besides, they’ll keep Cunningham in check, and hopefully won’t let anything awful happen to Elder Price.

McKinley’s stomach twists at the thought, but what else is he supposed to do? Elder Price won’t even speak to him anymore; how can he possibly protect him?

He makes the announcement over dinner the day before the group’s departure, a week or so after his return, and, collectively, everyone puts down their utensils and turns to face him. Poptarts looks sorry, and Elder Price doesn’t meet his eyes, but everywhere else he’s faced with stony glares, and his heart jumps into his throat.

“Elders?” he ventures.

Elder Michaels speaks first. “We really hate to do this,” he says, and behind him, Elder Church mutters “No, we don't.” Davis elbows him.

“But we don’t really know what else to do,” Michaels continues.

“You won’t tell us what’s going on,” Davis declares, “or anything about what the heck happened in Kampala for the last six months. This has been going on for six months!”

“I… I know,” Elder McKinley says, clutching at the edge of the table. “What are you trying to say?”

Neeley clears his throat. “If you don’t trust us,” he says, “we can’t trust you. Elder Michaels and I refuse to go.”

Elder McKinley gasps, but there’s no other sound in the small kitchen. He turns to Davis and Church, but both of them shake their heads.

“Uh, I’ll go,” Elder Cunningham says. “Because you promised and all. But after this…” He looks down at the table.

“I can’t send you and Elder Price by yourselves!” McKinley protests.

“Go yourself,” Neeley replies. “We can manage here without you.” He says it coldly, evenly, like he has nothing to lose... and, McKinley realizes, he doesn’t. Michaels seems embarrassed, Church seems angry, Davis seems determined, and Poptarts unsure, but it’s at least four of them against him; there’s no way he can win.

“Poptarts?” he asks.

“I’ll go with you,” he replies. “I’m your companion, and I promised I would go wherever you go until our missions are over.” There’s an unspoken ‘but’, ‘but I don’t trust you either’, or ‘but this is as far as I will go’, and Elder McKinley isn’t sure how he’s going to keep from falling apart tonight.

“All right,” he says. He clears his throat, clenching his hands into fists under the table. “All right. Elder Cunningham, Elder Price, Elder Thomas, and I will be leaving for Palabek first thing in the morning. I… I have nothing more to say.”

His eyes cloud over, and he barely makes it to the bathroom before his body is wracked with sobs that he hides behind his hands.

What on earth is he supposed to do?

*****

The bus ride there is painfully awkward. Not even Poptarts will look at him. By the time they arrive, McKinley’s hoping to just get through the next three days without crying in front of anybody. They make it to the most vocal convert’s house, Nkunda, a man who volunteered to give them a place to stay when they came, and are received in joyous welcome. He’s not a young man, but Nkunda greets them all with enthusiastic hugs, immediately dragging them around to meet his many children, and his even more numerous grandchildren.  
“You must tell them all the story of the prophet and the warlord!” he says, slapping McKinley’s back firmly. “I do not have your gift for storytelling.”

Instinctively, McKinley turns to Elder Cunningham, and manages to deflect their host’s interest to him long enough to get everyone’s things piled up in a corner in preparation for tonight. Of course, that means he doesn’t hear what the prophet promises until it’s too late: “Yeah, we’ll get as many people together as you want and tell everybody the story at the same time!” he says, grinning. “And, while we do that, Elder McKinley and Poptarts can go talk to new people.”

McKinley takes a deep breath. Proselytizing. All right. It doesn’t matter that Elder Cunningham is taking over his job, and giving him orders. He can proselytize. Poptarts may have to do most of the speaking, but he can at least fake a smile. He’s still capable of that much.

“Oh…” Elder Cunningham says. “Is that okay, Elder McKinley?”

“It’s perfectly fine,” McKinley replies. “We’ll just… go on and head out, right, Poptarts?”

Poptarts nods, averting his eyes.

“Great. We’ll… see you later today,” McKinley continues. “Um… yes.”

What a wonderful start to the day.

*****

Things go all right, he guesses. Poptarts of course does more than him. He barely manages to say more than a sentence at a time. But time goes by, they finish row of houses after row of houses, give out a few books, and tell the story of the prophet and the warlord enough times that it starts to lose its charm.

McKinley goes through it all in a haze, not really feeling anything even as they pray and share their faith, until he notices that remaining houses in the row they just started are all closing their doors, and shutting their windows as best they can.

He opens his mouth to say something to Poptarts, but then, from a few homes away, a man calls to them:  “What are you doing?”

“We’re missionaries,” Poptarts replies, “with the Church of-”

“No, what are you doing outside?” the man asks. “Look at the sky.”

They look up; dark, ominous clouds are rolling in, and they fill the sky in every direction.

“Oh, no,” Poptarts says. Ugandan storms are notorious, and it looks like they’re about to be caught in one.

“Good luck!” the man yells before ducking into his house and slamming the door.

Elder McKinley and Poptarts take one look at each other and start briskly walking back towards Nkunda’s house. If they were back home, in the United States, McKinley wouldn’t be worried at all; there would be at least an hour before the storm broke. But things are different here: storms hit hard and fast, and with the way all the locals are locking themselves in, they don’t have a moment to lose.

“Do you think we’ll make it?” Poptarts asks, frowning worriedly at the rumble of thunder over their heads.

McKinley shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, watching the sky. Even if they do, what about Elder Price and Elder Cunningham? It may be late enough for them to start to head back for dinner, but he doesn’t know. Neither of them are particularly punctual, and when Arnold gets started on a story he doesn’t tend to notice anything else. What if they get stuck out in the storm? What if one of them gets hurt? What if they can’t find a house that will take them in? What if-

They turn onto the dirt road that Nkunda’s home sits next to, and he sees Elders Price and Cunningham at the other end.

“Get inside!” McKinley cries, waving Elder Price and Elder Cunningham towards Nkunda’s house. “Hurry, we need to get inside!”

Elder Cunningham waves, and in response, McKinley points at the sky. The clouds are so dark, joined with the early sunset, that it almost looks like night, and the only way he can see the other elders is by the white of their shirts. “Hurry! Please, hurry!” he shouts.

Just as the words pass his lips, the rain begins to fall threateningly, and all four of them start to run. There’s something terrifying about running from a thunderstorm, knowing that it could break on you at any moment, and for a moment, as they all try to squeeze through the narrow doorway to the house, Elder McKinley thinks he might be sick all over the threshold. But they make it inside, and manage to slam the door against the chaos before getting soaked to the bone. As the others gasp for breath and check their books for rain damage, McKinley has to lean up against the wall nearest the door, firmly pressing his hand over his mouth, waiting for the nausea to pass.

“Elder McKinley?”

He jumps, hurriedly straightening up, and tries to put on a professional smile. He'll have time to be sick later, once this trip is over, if he needs to. “Yes, Elder?” he says, looking up. It's Elder Price, watching him, looking at him instead of through him for the first time since he left; he finds himself unprepared.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” McKinley replies, adjusting his tie neatly. “That sure is some storm brewing out there, isn’t it?”

“You’re lying.”

Poptarts and Elder Cunningham still.

“...excuse me?” he asks.

“You are lying,” Elder Price repeats, emphasizing every word.

Elder McKinley closes his eyes, drawing a breath and telling himself to turn it off. He can’t let his own personal feelings interfere with how he tries to talk Elder Price down, and since Elder Price has finally decided to acknowledge that he exists, it looks like he’s going to need every bit of resolve and composure to keep him from causing a scene. But he must miss something in that moment of self-reflection, because when he opens his eyes Elder Price is moving towards him with the strangest expression he’s ever seen. It takes him a moment to place it; it’s not a natural look for Elder Price. His face was made for triumphant smiles, for optimistic determination, for good-natured sarcasm, righteous indignation, and reverent awe; not for betrayal. That’s what it is, that expression, betrayal, and guilt, and desperate, boiling frustration with no damper or mask to be seen, like Elder McKinley has done something he can never forgive.

“Elder Price, you really should watch what you’re saying,” he says, shaking. “You know-

“No,” the man replies, shaking his head; his hair, wild and windswept, quivers with the movement. “I don’t know. I don’t know why you would do what you did to yourself.”

“Elder Price-”

“No.” He looks awful, with his uniform damp and hanging off his too-broad shoulders. He has dark circles under his eyes, rimmed with red bright enough for Elder McKinley to see even from across the dimly lit room. But, he doesn’t look resigned anymore; he doesn’t look like he did this morning, when Elder McKinley was sent out to proselytize. Now, he is _angry_. “You don’t get to interrupt me,” he says. “You… you don’t get to tell me to stop, this time.”

“Elder Price, what are you-”

“Stop.”

“Why are you ordering me around?”

“Because everyone who’s known you for more than five minutes has figured out that something’s wrong.”

McKinley has to hold back a wince at that. It hurts more than he expected to have his fears confirmed like this. “There’s something wrong?”

Elder Price glares at him. “Stop avoiding the question,” he snaps.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elder McKinley replies, with the most seamless fake calm he can rally. Of course he knows there’s something wrong, and of course he knows he’s going to have to stop this eventually and face what he’s done, but there is no way on God’s green earth that it’s going to happen while in an unknown village, in front of new converts, in a host family’s home.

“Elder McKinley…” Poptarts ventures, “Elder Price is right; you don’t look well at all.”

Elder Price snorts. “You look like you haven’t slept in years,” he says. “Everyone knows that you're falling apart.”

And that… well. Elder McKinley snaps.

“And they can’t tell that you are?” he says. “Look at you! Half of Kitguli probably thinks you have AIDS by this point.”

Elder Price goes pale. “How would you know?” he asks. “You’ve barely talked to any of them for the past two months because you’re too busy trying to fix my problems for me.”

McKinley almost laughs. “Do you think you can fix them yourself?” he asks. “You hardly even got out of bed when I was gone. Besides, that's my _job_. And, for another thing, I have _not_ been neglecting my duties the way you’ve seemed to. The entire reason we’re here right now is because I introduced a bus load of people to the Book of Arnold.”

“And then you basically passed out directly afterwards. Poptarts told me what happened at the bus stop. Do you think Ghali’s sister was impressed by the testimony you told when you could barely stand up?”

“What is it to you?” McKinley asks. “It’s my responsibility to act as I see fit.”

“How come that doesn’t apply to me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“How come you won’t make me own up to my mistakes? I was the one who created this problem. It was me, my fault. You didn’t have to cover for me. You didn’t have to go back. You wouldn’t have had to do what you did if you had just sent me home!”

“What kind of person do you think I am? I wouldn’t have had you sent home by the mission president who caused all this in the first place.”

“I deserve to be sent home, Elder McKinley, and you know it.”

“I know it?” Elder Price’s sheer audacity steals his breath away, and McKinley is left aghast. _Is that what he thinks? Is that what I'm supposed to know? Do the rules suddenly matter, then? Is this when you finally decide to obey, Elder Price?_ His chest heaves as he yells, “What I know is that you’re a stupid, self-sacrificing _idiot_!”

“Oh, so I'mthe idiot? Who was the one who went _back_ , Elder? You knew what he was going to do to you!”

“And I knew what he was going to do to _you_.”

“Don’t,” Elder Price says coldly. “Don’t you dare pretend this is about me.”

Oh, so that’s where Elder Price draws the line, is it? Well, turnabout is fair frickin' play. “How is it not?” McKinley asks. “How isn’t everything about you? How isn’t this about how you couldn’t bear to ask anyone for help? How is this not about how you had to fix everything yourself? How is this _not_ about how you had to be the hero and make the sacrifice play, huh? How is this whole mess not entirely about you, Elder Price?”

“Because it’s  _not!_ ”

“Oh, I have to disagree.”

“Yeah, just like you had to disagree whenever I tried to tell you about what I was thinking. Did you even bother to listen to me, or were you too busy trying to hush me up and take care of the problems I made? Do you even think I ever wanted anybody to know? Do you think I cared that I was the hero of District Nine for, what, ten whole minutes at that stupid banquet?”

“Why else would you do it, then? You failed enough times here; can you honestly tell me this wasn’t a last ditch effort to save your own reputation?”

That, of all things, shuts him up. McKinley finally remembers to breathe, and for a moment, that’s all he can hear as Elder Price’s face loses all of its expression. He looks around, trying to ground himself, to find a stable place to comes to terms with what’s happening, with what he’s said, he didn't mean it,  _he didn't mean it_ ,  and he sees Elder Cunningham and Poptarts’ faces. Elder Price’s may be blank, but theirs are far from it, and all he sees there is horror, that cuts him deeper than anything Elder Price has said so far.

“Don’t look at me like that!” he cries. “You don’t know what I… what I did for you!”

“I would,” Poptarts says quietly, “if you would have trusted me.”

McKinley doesn’t know what to say.

“Really,” Elder Price says, “is that why you did it? Did you do it for them?”

“I- Of course!” McKinley replies, hearing the edge of desperation in his own voice. “Why else would I have done it? It wasn’t because… no, that was it. I did it for my mission.”

“What were you going to say?” Elder Price asks, stepping forward, his voice steely, his expression cold. “You accused me of whoring myself out for ambition; what’s your reason?”

“I did it out of sacrifice!” McKinley cries. “You have to- I didn’t do it for myself!”

“Then why?”

McKinley looks desperately to Poptarts; his arms are crossed, his face creased in a scowl.

“There’s… I’m the district leader, I… my reasons were p-perfectly legitimate, and I had to-”

“What were your reasons?”

“Elder Price, please!” He’s almost screaming now, his voice against the storm, and he’s backed up against the wall as far as he can. Elder Price is too close, far too close, but all McKinley can do is scramble for a handhold in the wall and hope that he doesn’t- “Please, I… you have to understand, it wasn’t…”

“I don’t care.”

 

Elder McKinley’s heart stops. It’s pounding in his ears, the way the thunder outside is shaking the house, but he can’t feel it, he can’t feel anything, his body has gone numb.

Nothing has changed; Elder Price is still standing in front of him, hands clenched into fists, brown eyes narrowed in anger, almost enough to hide the sunken pits beneath his eyes and cheekbones; his companion stands behind him, watching; Poptarts is there, looking at him with frustration and disgust and, and _disappointment_ , and everything is the exact same as the moment before, except- _Elder Price doesn’t care_.

Elder McKinley doesn’t really know what he’s doing, at that moment, what he does to get Elder Price out of his way, what he does to get himself to the door. He doesn’t know if anyone calls after him as he opens the door to the house, and the rain lashes his face like a slap of an authoritative hand. Maybe someone tries to grab him; he can’t feel a thing except the rain, the thunder, and the pounding in his head that says _Elder Price doesn’t care_.

He closes the door behind him, and he runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave comments/kudos, or send me a message at greerian.tumblr.com. This was an emotionally draining chapter, more so than usual, so I would really love feedback. Thank you!


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which people care more than they don't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hail Mamma McKinley.  
> And, wow, I am so proud of this fic, it's incredible. Thank you guys so much for reading this and following along. Can you believe it was supposed to be a crack oneshot? 5000 words at the most. And, well, look at where we are now :D  
> Some notes:Btw, the Kevin hates planes and the Connor compensates for his sexuality by using it for 'useful' things are not my headcanons. I believe the first one belongs to acting-it-up and the second one belongs to kevnprices (on tumblr). If this is wrong, or you see your headcanons in here anywhere, please message me, and I'll be sure to credit you here!  
> (Song for the end of this part: I Choose You by Sara Bareilles)  
> ((Lira lira is Ugandan moonshine, also known as Waragi))
> 
> Here is your promised happy ending, after a lot of angst. I recommend reading from "Just as the words pass his lips, the rain begins to fall threateningly, and all four of them start to run," in the last chapter, just to catch up and set the scene.  
> I'm sorry it's taken so long to update, but I am very, very proud of this chapter.  
> Again, thank you, and I hope you enjoy.

_Elder Price doesn’t care._

Elder McKinley starts running.

_Elder Price doesn’t care._

The red dust of the ground has turned to mud beneath his feet and it clings to his shoes, like the very earth is trying to pull him down and bury him alive; he keeps running.

_Elder Price doesn’t care._

The rain lashes his face, stinging and sharp, and he thinks that if he were to reach up and touch his cheek his hand would come away dripping blood; he keeps running.

_He doesn’t care._

He’s soaked to the bones in seconds. He can’t see where he’s going. There’s a river by Nkunda’s house; it must be raging by this point. Maybe he’ll fall in and drown. He doesn’t care. He keeps running.

 _He doesn’t_ care _._

His feet keep moving, and he can’t stop. He can’t stop running, even though his legs are burning, and every part of him aches. Everything is dark and loud and confused and painful, and he keeps running.

“He doesn’t care.”

The words are fire in his throat, burning, scalding worse than hot water. He sobs once at the throbbing pain, and it only gets worse. Thunder rumbles over and in his head, and wailing of the wind matches the gasps that he can’t seem to stop.

“He doesn’t care.”

It hurts, it hurts so bad. Everything aches, and he clutches at his own arms as if he can hold himself together. No, not for that; he just needs something, anything to help with the _pain_. He’s never hurt so much before. Every scrape, every scar, every bruise and bump and burn and blister he’s felt in his life or in his dreams is returning in a wave of phantom aches, taking over his body until all he is is sobbing, throbbing, open wound.

“He doesn’t care.”

Maybe he screams it, maybe he whispers. Elder McKinley doesn’t know. He can’t hear anything over the rain, the thunder, the pulse of his heart in his ears.

“He doesn’t care!”

 _Ow_. He screams it that time, he knows, because suddenly there’s a knife slicing the back of his throat and another sob, deeper, wracking, worse than the first one is torn from him as payment.

He screams, wordless and agonizing, throwing his head back and choking on the rain that falls and slips down his throat; he tumbles to the ground.

Everything is mud and rain and dark and pain and he’s so _alone_ , because… because Elder Price doesn’t _care_.

“I gave everything…” He pounds his fists into the mud, and pushes himself up onto his knees. “I gave you everything!”

His hands are covered in red; mud coats every inch of them. His clothes are ruined, and he has the sudden urge to smear the muck of the road over whatever untouched skin he can still find. Then, at least, he’ll look as filthy as he really is.

“I…” He just wants to stay here, to cry so much that there is nothing left and he’s just rain and mud and dirt that people will step on tomorrow once the storm is over and life resumes, but there is something else he needs to say, more words fighting their way up from the depths of his stomach, lacerating his raw throat. “How could you?” he cries, hurling those words from his mouth out into the darkness which spits them back into his face. “I did this for you! Everything… everything I gave up, you… how could you not care?”

Maybe he won’t have to cry himself away. Maybe these words will tear him up so much, he’ll bleed out onto the ground, soaking into the earth, adding nourishment to the soil. Maybe then somebody will get some good out of his useless body.

He closes his eyes; there’s nothing more to look at. When his fists clench, he feels the mud squelch out from between his fingers. Again, he screams. Again, he can hardly hear it. Maybe there’s somebody in one of these God-forsaken huts that can hear him and thinks there’s somebody being murdered out here. He doesn’t care.

 _He doesn’t care_.

 

“I love him.”

 

That’s it. Those are the words, the ones that will end him, on the ground, in the rain, darkness all around, with his heart pouring out of his eyes. Those are the ones that make his whole body throb and ache, like he’s all raw skin or a fresh bruise, like he’s black and blue and not red-brown with mud and white with the strips of rain-washed skin that somehow still manage to show. He cries out at the pain, clutching at himself like his filthy hands can keep him from breaking apart. He doubles over, his head almost against the ground, and the air trapped in his lungs starts to burn, but he… he just _can’t_. There is no part of him capable of… of putting this, of trying to turn it-

“Elder McKinley!”

He sits up, smearing mud across his face as he brushes the hair out of his eyes. He can’t see a thing; all is darkness and rain and thunder, but… but he could have sworn...

“Elder McKinley!”

“Here,” he says. “I’m here.” He’s imagining things. He must be. There’s nothing out there. No one out there.

But “Elder McKinley!” a third time. Slowly, McKinley stands. There’s a figure, out there in the nothingness, and his breath catches in his throat. Is that…?

He takes a step forward. Another. A few more, and his feet are slipping in the mud, but the figure is close enough to see, and, yes, it’s not just a figment of his broken mind, someone is...

“You _idiot_!” he screams. “You absolute idiot!”

The figure approaches, and he runs the last few feet to throw himself into its arms.

“Elder McKinley,” Elder Price says, and he’s ruining two sets of uniforms, they’re both going to be stuck out here forever, and he _hates_ him, _he loves him_. Why did Elder Price have to follow him?

McKinley can’t answer, clinging to Elder Price as his body is wracked with sobs so painful he’s not sure how long he can stay standing. Elder Price’s arms wrap around him, too.

“We need to find shelter,” he yells, the storm whipping the words away almost as fast as McKinley can hear them. “We need to get you safe.”

“No,” McKinley replies. “No, I don’t… I don’t want to; I don’t care.” Elder Price should leave him out here to melt into the rain, the way he should, the way he wants to. He doesn’t want to find shelter. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care anymore; it doesn’t matter if he-

“Elder McKinley, please! We need to-”

“No!” He tries to push himself away, and only ends up clinging tighter. “Just… leave me alone. Leave me alone, Elder Price, I don’t…”

“I can’t,” he answers.

He can’t. He _can’t._ Is that supposed to mean something?

“Go back to the house,” Elder McKinley cries, holding him as close as he can for the moment he has left. “Go back, and stay with the others.”

“I can’t,” Elder Price repeats, and he doesn’t let go.

“Elder Price-”

“I can’t!” he shouts, and suddenly Elder McKinley is being pulled away, his arms are in Elder Price grip, and he’s face to face with him and _he doesn’t care_.

“You don’t care,” he says. There’s mud all over him, they can barely hear each other over this raging storm, and he doesn’t really know how he can see the man but he can, he _can_ and that, more than anything, is too much. “You don’t care!” he screams. “You don’t care about…” His words twist into some mutant cry that rends the air, and Elder Price lets go.

“I…” he says, but Elder McKinley is done. He’s done, he’s over with, he’s given everything he can; there’s nothing more he can offer. What’s he’s sacrificed isn’t enough for Elder Price, and he is left with only an empty chamber within himself, those dusty, unused boxes crushed and shredded and piled in a corner. There’s nothing else he can provide.  
He turns on his heel, sharply and neatly, like he’s still a professional, a district leader, a human being without a gaping hole in his chest, and walks away. Elder Price grabs his arm, and he pushes him off.

Maybe the river is this way.

“Elder McKinley, please!”

“I’m sorry,” he says. He doesn’t even know if Elder Price can hear him. Does it really matter? “I can’t give you anything else.”

He keeps walking. The storm is at his back, now, pushing him forward. More than a few times he stumbles, the mud sticking to his shoes and weighing him down, holding him back, but he keeps going. The storm won’t let him stop.

As his own words echo in his mind, he suddenly hears his mother’s voice, as she reads one of her favorite books. _“And after a long time,”_ she says, _“the boy came back again. ‘I am sorry, Boy,’ said the tree, ‘but I have nothing left to give you, my apples are gone… my branches are gone. You cannot swing on them… My trunk is gone. You cannot climb… I am sorry,’ sighed the tree. ‘I wish that I could give you something… but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump. I am sorry…’”_

And he is, too; Connor McKinley is sorry. He should have remembered; he should have known that when you give of yourself eventually you run out, and when there’s nothing left nobody wants to stay. He should have known. He should have…

He asked, when she first read that story, if people could be like trees, and she smiled and hugged him and said _“Yes, yes, Connor, but we have Heavenly Father to build us back up again,”_ and maybe if he actually prayed and tried to draw from Him instead of just turning it off all the time, maybe he wouldn’t be here, walking into the darkness, hoping that the ground will give out beneath him and he’ll be able to drown in peace.

Because, really, if he thinks about it, it’s all his own fault, isn’t it? He wouldn’t let himself see the imperfection in Elder Price, the obvious signs that something was wrong, because he… he just let his own concerns, his own opinion, his own thoughts, _himself_ , get in the way. _Well._ Look at what he has now. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

He trips, his foot catching on a stone, and he almost falls and face plants into the mud again. Almost, because Elder Price has grabbed his arm.

“Leave me alone,” McKinley pleads, turning to face him. He isn’t sure if his voice carries over the howl of the wind, but then Elder Price shakes his head, and he sighs. “Please.”

This he whispers, and there’s no way Elder Price could have heard, but he shakes his head anyway, and he doesn’t let go of Elder McKinley’s arm.

No. He… Elder McKinley suddenly feels very cold. His knees are weak, and he wants to sit down. Something tells him, though, that if he tries, Elder Price will yank him up again.

“Why?” he asks; it takes almost everything he has to raise his voice enough to be heard.

Again, Elder Price shakes his head.

Elder McKinley doesn’t have the energy to fight him anymore. The arm in Elder Price’s grip goes limp, and even though the storm is still lashing at him, trying to whip him into a frenzy, the hurricane inside himself is falling apart, dissipating into quiet, cold rain instead. He wants to go home. He wants to go hide in his closet, with a blanket wrapped around himself, and just _stop_. He doesn’t want to have to be Elder McKinley again.

Elder Price starts to walk against the rain, and McKinley follows, hardly capable of keeping himself upright anymore. He doesn’t know how far they go, or how long it takes them; he’s not even sure if they go anywhere, or if they’re stuck in an awful, eternal loop of footsteps in the mud in the rain, with a cold hand wrapped around his arm, but suddenly Elder Price turns to him, and puts his hands on his shoulders, and pushes him against something. A wall, hard and solid, is at McKinley’s back, and with a half-sob of relief he slumps against it, falling to the ground below. There are eaves above him, primitive and thatched, but they stop some of the rain. The wind has stopped blowing so hard, and the rain is falling straight down, now. Beneath the overhang, McKinley huddles against the wall, pressing against it as best he can. It’s stable and steady, and while he may not be safe and Elder Price may still be at his side, the wall is there, and it promises that there is something beyond this world of darkness and rain and anguish that threatens to swallow him whole. He feels like he may cry, but he’s not sure where the tears will come from. He’s hollowed out, and there's just no place for tears to come from, anymore. And he’s so cold…

He shivers, and Elder Price’s hands are on him again. He curls up, away from him, pulling his knees to his chest, but Elder Price sits beside him, wrapping his arms around McKinley and shielding him from the rain.

Maybe he should say something.

The rain keeps falling, loud and hard with little splats against the ground. McKinley is soaked, and very cold.

Elder Price’s back is to the little wind still blowing, and even though he’s cold, too, there’s something that feels a little like warmth between them, between McKinley’s back and Elder Price’s chest.

McKinley doesn’t say anything. Elder Price leans into him, and they both lean against the wall, and Elder Price murmurs “I’m not going to let go,” into his ear. McKinley doesn’t fight it.

*****

Somehow, he sleeps. When he comes to, bright light hitting his eyelids and making him flinch, the rain has stopped. He sits up, slowly, the sodden ground beneath him giving only a little as he pushes against it. He blinks, or tries to. There must be too much mud on his face; his eyes refused to open. When he reaches up to brush it away, though, a hand takes his, stopping it, and a voice says “Hold still. I’ve got it.”

A cloth brushes against his face, and a moment later, he feels droplets of water roll down his cheek. Carefully, Elder Price wipes the mud away from his eyes, brushing away the water that spills with a gentle touch. McKinley’s eyes flutter open slowly, and he winces at how brilliantly gold the light is. He’s sitting next to the wall of a hut, Elder Price by his side, and they’re facing the sunrise. The river is within sight; Elder Price’s shirt is in his hands. The sun is just peeking above the horizon.

“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t look,” Elder Price says. “It’s really bright right now.”

McKinley closes his eyes. “Are you okay?” he tries to ask, but it comes out as more a half croak, half whisper. He clears his throat, and the stab of pain that accompanies the action has his hand flying up to grasp at his neck, like he can heal the damage he did last night from the outside. He tries again.

“Are you okay?” It still hurts, but at least he sounds human this time.

“I’m…” Elder Price sighs. “Fine.”

Elder McKinley nods. “I’m sorry for dragging you out here,” he says, leaning back against the wall of the hut. “I never thought you…” _cared._

“What did you expect me to do? Just… let you run out into the storm like that?” Elder Price shifts closer, so close that the fabric of his temple garment brushes against McKinley’s arm. “You could have gotten hurt.”

 _So?_ “That was kind of you,” he replies.

Again, Elder Price sighs; again, his clothes brush against McKinley. “It was my fault you ran out in the first place,” he says. “It was the least I could do.”

Elder McKinley opens his eyes. It’s still painfully bright, but not quite as bad as it had been a few minutes ago, so he turns to Elder Price and sees him sitting against the wall, knees folded up to his chest. His eyes are closed, and he’s got mud streaked all over his clothes, his arms, his face. There are lines of worry creasing his brow and turning down the corners of his mouth; his shoulders are slumped; the hollows under his eyes are so bad he almost looks sick. McKinley reminds himself that it’s his fault Elder Price looks that way.

“It’s not your fault,” McKinley replies numbly. “I was the one who left.”

“I pushed you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Elder Price, but you don’t need to take care of me.” _Or make me think that you would. That you will. I don’t know how much more of this I can stand._

Elder Price’s lashes flutter, but his eyes stay closed. “And you didn’t need to take care of me,” he says.

McKinley’s breath catches in his throat. “As district leader,” he starts, “I have a responsib-”

“You should have sent me home.”

“Elder Price…”

“No. I’m not angry, Elder McKinley, or… or upset. According to the rule book, you should have sent me home after an indiscretion like that. That was your responsibility as a district leader.”

“We’ve talked about why I… I couldn’t send you home.”

“But you never said why you did what you did.”

“You said you didn’t care,” McKinley snaps.

Elder Price takes a deep breath, and opens his eyes. He blinks at the light and swipes one hand over his eyes quickly, but then he glances over at McKinley, half-smiling, and says “I was lying."

Elder McKinley looks away.

“So, what was your reason?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” McKinley answers. “I… It was selfish. Like you said, it was for my image. It couldn’t let things happen that way. I had to… to keep things from falling apart.”

Elder Price laughs. “‘Selfish’,” he says. “There’s a lot of words I could use to describe what you did, but ‘selfish’ is not one.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” McKinley replies. “The truth stays the same, whether it sounds nice or not, doesn’t it?”

“Using my own words against me,” he responds. “Clever. But, Elder McKinley, if what you did was so selfish, why does it matter if I care?”

McKinley frowns. “What?”

“If what you did,” Elder Price says, slowly, each word weighted, “if letting yourself get fucked by the mission president and his assistants was entirely to protect yourself and make sure the mission stayed, then why would it matter what I think?”

“I… I couldn’t let it happen,” Elder McKinley says, and his eyes start to burn. “It’s my job to, to protect- to… I couldn’t just…”

Elder Price sits up, then, and leans towards him. He reaches out, almost as if he’s going to take McKinley’s hand, but he doesn’t. Their eyes lock. “Everything I did,” he says, “I did for myself. That’s why the other elders never liked me. What you did, you did for them. It wasn’t for yourself. It could have been, a little bit, but… but you had to…” Now, finally, he’s struggling with his words.

“I had to do something,” McKinley whispers. “I couldn’t just sit there and let that happen. It was in my power to- to fix things, so I did.”

“No, you didn’t,” Elder Price says. “You know you didn’t.”

Elder McKinley doesn’t answer.

“Do you know what you did, Elder McKinley?” he asks. “You transferred the damage. You put yourself in the way. I bet you thought you could turn it off and it wouldn’t matter, didn’t you? I told you it doesn’t work like that. It _wasn’t_ the right thing to do, and it didn’t end up feeling like it, did it?”

Slowly, gritting his teeth to keep his chin from quivering, Elder McKinley shakes his head.

Elder Price sighs. “I thought a lot about you, when you were gone,” he says. “I… I couldn’t understand why you would put me, and me not having to go the last time, before yourself. It completely boggled my mind. How… Before I came here, I hadn’t done anything for anybody but myself. Even the things I did for the church were really for me. Selflessness just… it didn’t make sense to me. So, when you did it…”

“Elder Price, I-”

“No,” he says. “You need to hear this, and I need to say this. Please.”

Elder McKinley doesn’t reply.

“When you did it,” Elder Price continues, “I didn’t really know what to think. I couldn’t understand _why._ What good would it do you to… to do that? That’s why I said all that, about you… I don’t need to go over that again. But I couldn’t _get_ it, and I was angry about that because I wanted it to make sense, so I’d know what you’d do, and what I could get from you, and… and when you would stop. When you would stop being selfless. You never fucking _stopped_. What was I supposed to do with that?”

He takes a deep breath.

“That’s about what I was thinking last night, and… you were right about everything you said. But, um, when I said all that, I… I was just trying to understand. There’s not much I don’t understand, and… I didn’t mean it. I don’t…” he chuckles, ducking his head, “I don’t think you’re an idiot. I don’t think you’re a whore, or selfish, or… any of the stuff I said. I’m sorry I…” He trails off, and Elder McKinley shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t be,” he says softly. “You were right before. I’m not selfless, Elder Price. I… just because I… it looks different from what it really was. I did it for… for myself.”

The other man looks up, but before he can say a word McKinley holds up a hand. “I need to say this,” he says. “You’ve said your piece, now I’ll say mine. I’m… I am… I’m gay. And that, that’s not s-something I’m…” He stops, and wipes his eyes. “Gosh, I… I didn’t think I could cry anymore.” Shouldn’t he have gotten all these tears out last night? He blinks a few times, then makes himself take a deep breath. Elder Price needs to understand and take him off of whatever pedestal he’s put him on. He’s only doing it because Elder McKinley is being nice to him, anyway. McKinley doesn’t deserve it. “I’m not okay with that. I… I think that was why I did it. If I’m going to be gay, I… I might as well do something good with it.”

He hears the hiss of a sharply drawn breath, and he has to close his eyes. He doesn’t want to know what Elder Price thinks right now. “And…” he says, “and it’s my job to… to take care of y- of District Nine. I needed to do that, I…”

“Elder McKinley,” he says, and _why_ does he have to interrupt? “isn’t that selfless?”

“What is, Elder?” McKinley asks, opening his eyes again. His voice is shaking as he looks at Elder Price, as he meets his gaze and says “My inability to do my job properly, or my failure to keep my feelings out of my decisions?”

Elder Price’s jaw clenches. “Your sacrifice,” he answers. “I don’t know a single bishop who would have asked you to do what you did, just because you’re gay. They may say that it’s wrong, but nobody would have said that you needed to sacrifice yourself like that. And you did it to protect your district. That’s not selfish at all.”

“How do you know I’m not just doing it to cover myself?” McKinley asks shakily. He can’t listen to Elder Price, no matter how much he wants to. He can’t let himself believe the things he’s saying; it’s too dangerous, and they’re _wrong._

Elder Price chuckles, sitting back against the wall again. “Did you really think nobody would find out? That the other elders aren’t going to get it out of you as soon as we go back to the house? People are going to know about this,” he says.

McKinley swallows. “I know.”

“They’re going to know about both of us.”

“I know, Elder Price.”

“Then, tell me, how would taking the consequences on yourself cover _anything_ up?”

“Maybe I didn’t know at the time what… what was going to happen.”

“Maybe. But you did, didn't you?”

It takes McKinley a minute to get the words out. “I didn’t know,” he whispers, his view of the muddy ground blurring out into a single swath of red-brown. “I was supposed to be the district leader, things were… everything was supposed to make sense. You were supposed to _help_ , and…” He stops. “I don’t blame you,” he says quickly. “It’s not… you haven’t hurt the district at all. Your actions kept us here. The only negative effect you had…” he trails off.

He must be completely transparent, but Elder Price doesn’t say anything. They both know how the sentence ends. But, now, even as gutted and weary as he feels, leaning up against this wall, in the mud, warmed by the early morning light, Elder McKinley wouldn’t change the way things happen. He wouldn’t change what he did.

McKinley thinks over the argument they had last night. His own desperation makes him wince, but, from the few definite words he can remember, his words were much more harsh than Elder Price’s. Why is he so insistent on the idea that Elder McKinley is selfless? If only he knew the real reason McKinley took his place. He knows why he did it, and it’s nothing noble or sacred.

He thinks about the end of the conversation; even the memory makes him tense and lean away from Elder Price. And, yes, Elder Price already said he was lying, but was he _really_ lying about that part? The insults don’t matter. But… “Did you mean it when you said you didn’t care?” he asks, so softly he can barely hear himself.

With bated breath, he watches as Elder Price shakes his head.

“Thank you,” he says, leaning back against the wall. “That’s all I wanted.”

And Elder Price, for some reason, _reacts_ , his whole body sharpening and straightening up, and he turns wide and frantic eyes on Elder McKinley, who just cringes back against the wall. He is silhouetted against the rising sun, every stand of his hair illuminated gold, and it makes him look more ethereal than anybody who’s slept outside in a thunderstorm deserves to be. In the face of that, Elder McKinley is suddenly reminded of how disgusting he himself is, covered in mud from head to toe; he looks away.

“Why?” Elder Price asks, leaning closer. “Why would that be it? Why is that… _why?_ Why did you do it? I’ve tried, I’ve thought of everything, and you’re absolutely selfless, but… why?”

“Elder Price…”

“No,” he says, “I need to know this. Why, Elder McKinley?”

What can he say? Elder McKinley thought he had nothing left to give, but… he still has this. And Elder Price has asked. It’s all he has.

“I…” It hurts; it’s _going_ to hurt. But it needs to be said. “Elder Price, I l-” His voice cracks. Elder McKinley buries his face in his hands. He’s trembling, he realizes. Somehow, he’s crying again. “I love you,” he whispers. He wipes his eyes; the mud crusted across the back of his hand scratches his eyelids. “I’m in love with you,” he says, looking up at Elder Price. “That was… that’s my reason.”

When Elder McKinley had daydreamed about confessing his love for someone before this, before Uganda, it had been a beautiful scene. There would be candles, he was sure, and a romantic dinner (with wine, maybe, if he was feeling rebellious), and the ambiguous, genderless figure on the other side of the table would gasp, and smile, and maybe even cry, and say _‘Oh, Connor, I love you, too,’_ and they would be happy together, this non-person and he, because they were in love, and that’s how being in love works. Now… if he could laugh, he would. This is not supposed to be how it goes. Falling in love wasn’t supposed to happen on his mission. It’s not supposed to _hurt_. He’s not supposed to be wallowing in self-pity and dirt, probably looking like something out of a horror film. He’s not supposed to be suicidal. There’s supposed to be some sort of hope that comes along with feelings like that, hope that they’ll be in love with him, too, and that everything will be _okay_. Life is… it was going to be beautiful.

“I didn’t know,” Elder Price mutters, slumping back against the wall. The light has shifted; Elder Price is no longer glowing.

Maybe Elder McKinley should apologize; he would if he could. He is empty, though. He has nothing left to give, not even an apology.

“If… I shouldn’t have asked you to-”

“Elders are to bring all problems not fixed by conversation between companions to the district leader,” McKinley recites dully.

“I didn’t know what you would do!” Elder Price snaps. “I didn’t know you were in lo-”

“Not ‘were’. I am.”

“I didn’t know that. I never should have… if I’d known-”

“But you didn’t,” McKinley interrupts. “You didn’t know, and you came to me, and I fell in love with you.” Those are the facts; that is the truth. The truth stays constant, whether it sounds nice or not. Elder McKinley is resting on that truth now; these are the only things he knows.

“I could have…”

Elder McKinley shakes his head.

“Why aren’t you mad at me?”

McKinley shrugs. How do you tell someone you’ve given the entirety of yourself to them, completely on accident? Apparently ‘I love you’ doesn’t cut it.

“But I-” Elder Price seems to be at a loss. “The things I said, the… you… You _ran_ , because I said I… you thought I didn’t care about you.”

Elder McKinley nods.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.” Elder Price has already said so. That is the truth.

“I didn’t… I meant I didn’t care about your excuses. I wanted to hear your reasons; I… And _that_ was your reason. Fuck…” The back of his head smacks against the wall.

Elder McKinley watches silently.

“I am so… stupid,” Elder Price mutters, a smile on his face like the one he’s worn every time he’s lied to Elder McKinley in the past.

“No, you’re not,” McKinley replies, purely out of reflex. He doesn’t know for a fact; he’s never seen any of Elder Price’s test scores.

“No, I really am. It was right in front of my face, and I didn’t… I asked myself a million times over _why_ , and it’s because… you love me.” He whispers the last three words, but Elder McKinley nods.

“I wish I could say the same.”

Again, McKinley nods. He doesn’t know that - it may not be the truth - but he is supposed to nod in acknowledgement. That is the polite thing to do, and other people deserve politeness. That, Elder McKinley still knows.

“I… I don’t know if I can love anyone,” Elder Price says. He laughs; McKinley hears a sob. “Even myself.”

Something has changed; this can't be true. Elder McKinley sits up, drawing physical strength from somewhere beyond himself, and he frowns.

“Elder Price,” he says. He’s not sure what he means to add, but Elder Price sits up, too, and leans towards him, and they are close enough that McKinley can see that there are tears in his eyes, and Elder Price says “I’d like to try.”

Elder McKinley’s breath catches in his throat painfully.

Elder Price reaches out, his hand hovering over Elder McKinley’s outstretched leg.

“Will you let me?” he asks.

McKinley is afraid to breathe. There is a tension, suspending Elder Price’s hand in the middle of the rain-washed air, and it’s holding McKinley captive, frozen: afraid. He has not given up everything; he still has instinctual fear and longing, feelings that make him feel like a rabbit facing down a wolf. Elder Price is no wolf, but Elder McKinley is still frail, defenseless, and hurt. He's not sure what is true and what isn’t, what he should or shouldn’t do - all of that was what he surrendered last night in the rain - but whatever’s left, so insignificant that he didn’t even notice it was still there, cowering in the expanse left behind by all those crushed boxes, has jumped up and is saying something that McKinley has no choice but to listen to. It tells him to stretch out his hand, to rest it over Elder Price’s, to interlace their fingers. He hesitates.

But why? What does he have left to fear? He has nothing left but that little voice, and if he hasn’t succeeded in getting rid of it before now, he’s not sure he ever will.

He takes Elder Price’s hand.

And Elder Price… his face changes. It softens, just a little, at the corners of his mouth and around his eyes. He’s not smiling, no, but it’s a more genuine expression than a smile would be right now, anyway. “Thank you,” he says, breathless and grateful and excited.

“Yes, well.” McKinley squeezes his hand and tries to smile in return. “I don’t even know your name.”

The tension is melted away; Elder Price laughs. It’s shaky, but McKinley finds himself chuckling, too. It’s such an inane thing to notice, but it’s safe, and it’s another thing Elder McKinley can give him.

“I’m Connor,” he says, between breaths, and Elder Price replies, “And I’m Kevin.”

Their eyes meet, and they both dissolve into giggles. Connor laughs so hard he cries.

Finally, when the sun is finally, fully up, and Connor has wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to scrape the mud off his hands, the two of them get up, hesitantly straightening each other’s uniforms. Kevin puts his shirt and tie back on. They get their bearings by walking alongside the river back to Nkunda’s  house. They use his outdoor shower, hosing off fully clothed. Connor resigns himself to throwing out his entire outfit when the mud doesn’t wash out.

He never lets go of Kevin’s hand.

*****

“Elders, thank you. I… I have gathered you all here today-”

“‘To join myself and Elder Price in Holy Matrimony’,” says Elder Church. Somebody muffles a snort, and Connor stops.

“Um…” he says, looking to Kevin, who looks almost as confused as he feels. “Excuse me?”

Apparently the others find that funny, because they all start laughing, effectively breaking the tension that had filled the room from the time Connor first announced the meeting, a few days after coming back from Palabek.

“It’s nothing, Elder McKinley,” Church replies, smirking. “Just a little something to lighten the mood.”

 _At my expense_ , Connor thinks, but he smiles politely anyway. “Well, thank you, Elder Church, but we really need to focus now. This is going to be an important conversation.”

“Are you finally going to tell us what happened in Kampala?” Davis asks, straightening up.

Connor swallows, and nods. Everyone goes silent.

“Really?” Michaels says, sounding almost scared.

“Yes, really,” Connor replies, putting on a smile. “I’ve kept the truth from you all for too long. But, before anyone says anything, I… there’s going to be a few rules. First, no laughing, no mocking, and no interrupting. I don’t care what you have to say, we are _not_ going to be disrespectful. Second, I expect all of you to apologize to Elder Price, and thank him.”

“Connor-” Kevin says, reaching out, and Connor gives him a look. If this story is going to be told, it’s going to be on equal terms, and Kevin’s good intentions are going to get the acknowledgement they deserve.

“Since when have you been on a first-name basis with Elder Price?” Church asks, resting his chin in his hand with a smirk.

“Elder Church, please.” Connor isn’t ashamed of the glare he levels at the elder, if only because he’s quickly losing his resolve and if Elder Church keeps on with these little jokes this whole meeting will have been for nothing. “We really need to get started.”

“Okay,” Church says. “Let’s get started, then.” And all the elders look up at Connor expectantly.

“Oh,” he says. “Actually, Elder Price is going to start.” He abruptly sits down. At this rate, he’s not going to be able to handle this situation with any decorum or respect. Gosh, it’s all so awkward… he bites his lip, and sits on his shaking hands.

Kevin takes a deep breath. “Right,” he says. “So, as you all know, District Nine was in trouble six months ago, because of the, uh, mission president’s visit, and Elder McKinley and I went to Kampala to… sort that out.”

The elders nod, a few of them already looking bored.

“And… and I had to go back every month to give an oral report.”

Again, they all nod.

“I wasn’t actually giving reports.”

Now they perk up, a few foreheads wrinkling in confusion. Connor looks down at his shoes.

“The… the real reason I was there… what I actually did… the... um, sorry, this…”

Connor offers a hand, but Kevin pushes it away and buries one hand in his hair.

“I was doing favors for the mission president.”

“Favors?” Poptarts echoes softly. “I thought…” He goes silent as the others all turn to look at him.

“No interruptions,” Connor reminds them.

Kevin takes another deep breath, before rubbing a hand over his face. “Sexual favors,” he says.

There are four gasps; Michaels, Church, Davis, and Neeley. Poptarts and Cunningham just look sick. “I know it was wrong,” he says, his voice cracking, “but he… he agreed, and that was the only way to save the mission. So… every month, I went back, and… did things. Things that… Um… it kind of did a number on me. I didn’t want to eat, and… it was really stressful.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, Elder McKinley found out that something was wrong, and… and that was why Elder Cunningham came with me for the fifth visit.”

Connor looks up and sees that some of them are looking at Arnold, now, who squirms uncomfortably in his seat. They all look uncomfortable, particularly Elder Church, and suddenly Connor feels a stroke of cruel happiness. _It serves them right, for everything they’ve done,_ he thinks.

“I, um, I won’t tell you what I did,” Elder Price continues, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, “but it was awful, and that’s why, when we g-got back, my companion… he…”

Kevin’s voice cracks again, and Connor wishes more than anything he could do something more than just sit on his hands to try and keep from reaching out to him. Touching him won’t help - it could even make him worse - but _oh_ , how Connor wants to.

“He asked me to room with Elder McKinley.”

Davis makes an ‘oh’ of understanding at that, but nobody else says a word. Connor can’t bring himself to look away from Kevin, but he knows the others are riveted, watching wide-eyed as Elder Price falls apart in front of them. He’s shaking visibly, his bony shoulders hunched up around his ears, and his face is buried in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “If you’ll just… just give me a minute.”

Mutely, everyone nods. The following silence is almost painful to listen to, full as it is of bated breaths and choked back sobs that seem to stretch on for ages. Connor is half a moment away from taking over when Kevin sits up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I just… I never thought I’d have to say this.”

Softly, almost speaking at a whisper, Elder Church replies “It’s okay.”

Connor frowns, more than a bit taken aback. Out of all the elders, Church is runner-up only to Davis in his abrasive callousness, and he’s more of a mischievous joker than anyone who could understand what Elder Price is feeling. But, as Connor watches his face, he sees that Elder Church is… he looks like he’s crying, too. Maybe it’s just because of his own family history, which he’s made casual mention of rather often, but still, it’s… touching. Connor's anger fades away.

“Thanks,” Kevin says to him, flashing a brave smile at Elder Church for a second. “Um… so, I moved in with Elder McKinley, and I told him the whole story, and he said he refused to let me go back. We only had one month left, so… so, honestly, I thought it was stupid that he wanted me to stop. What good would it do to stop _now_? Or, then. But he wouldn’t hear any of it, and…” Kevin looks to him, his expression wearily relieved, and with a sickening jolt to the stomach, Connor realizes it’s _his_ turn.

“Yes, well,” he says, taking his hands from beneath his thighs and starting to wring them, trying to focus more on the burn of blood flooding back into them than the sins he’s about to confess. “We were just about finished with the reports, and obviously I couldn’t send Elder Price _back_ , and… and there were really a limited number of options, so I…”

“You went to Kampala alone.”

“Elder Thomas, n-no interru-”

“No, I know the rest of the story now,” Poptarts snaps, standing up. “That’s what you didn’t know if Elder Price would understand, you going to Kampala and letting the mission president do _that_ to you. That’s why you two had that fight. You… I can’t believe you, Elder McKinley.”

Connor can see the gears in his head turning as everything starts to make sense, and every sickening layer of deception and understanding comes together. “You _moved in_ with him,” Poptarts says, “you… You were trying to protect him, this whole time. You took his place in Kampala, didn’t you?”

“Elder, p-”

“You ran out into that thunderstorm because of _him_!” He’s pointing at Elder Price, face contorted with anger, and Connor is about to cry.

“Poptarts, _please_ -”

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

“That’s enough,” Elder Church says. He stands and pushes Poptarts back into his seat. “Elder McKinley’s reasons for doing what he did are not the issue here.” His voice cracks twice.

“No,” Connor says. “It’s true.” Gosh, he’s crying now, too, and it’s painful as the room goes silent. His throat is still sore from days ago, and he didn’t want to break down like this, in front of everyone.

Kevin holds out his hand, and Connor takes it in a crushing grip.

“I… I’m in love with him,” he says, “and, b-by extension, I’m homosexual, and… and definitely against the church’s teachings. I did go to Kampala to- to have sex with the mission p-president, and I… I…” Connor looks up at his elders.

They’re all watching him, big-eyed and innocent. Gosh, if only…

“I don’t regret it,” he says, “because it kept you all safe, and… and now we have our mission. We… we get to stay, and Elder Price- no, _all_ of you are… protected.” He bites his lip, hard, to keep from sobbing. He would do almost anything to make it so he wouldn’t have to do what he did, but he’s not sorry for what it brought the district. He just wishes he could erase the discomfort and the disgust from their faces; he wishes he could take Poptarts’ anger away. He wishes things could go back to the way they were. He wishes…

Connor stands, roughly wiping his eyes with the back of his hands.

“Elders,” he says, “make sure to thank Elder Price for saving the mission, and apologize to him for your cruelty these past few months. I’m going to- to pray. You are dismissed.”

He turns on his heel, and disappears into his room.

*****

Kevin comes to join him in the closet sometime later; they sit in silence for a while, Connor pressed back into the corner, and Kevin against the wall.

“I made a fool of myself,” Connor says eventually. “Most of that didn’t need to be said.”

Kevin smiles ruefully. “I was going to say I thought it was brave,” he replies. “You didn’t fall apart the way I did.”

“You went through more,” Connor says; Kevin merely shrugs. Connor is glad for that. He’d rather not argue right now.

They go quiet again, Connor holding a hand out for Kevin to take. The closet is comfortably warm, dark, and silent, and somehow having Kevin there makes it better than when he’s alone. Maybe it’s an effect of hearing his breathing; the whoosh of air in and out of his lungs is amplified a little in the small space, and Connor realizes his own breathing has matched it. This is simply the two of them, hiding from the world together, and… well. It feels right.

“I want to go home,” he says into the stillness.

Kevin doesn’t seem surprised. “Where is home for you?” he asks.

The cheesiest line pops into Connor’s head, and it’s enough to make him smile: _Wherever I’m with you_ , he thinks. “Denver,” he says. “You?”

“Provo.”

_No wonder you’re such a super-Mormon._

“Will your parents take you back?” he asks.

Kevin shakes his head. “They said… I already talked to them. I’m allowed in the house long enough to get my stuff and say goodbye, and then they don’t want to see me again until I’ve repented and reformed.”

Connor gasps. Kevin’s tone is brisk, but that _must_ hurt. 

“And that’s just for the Church of Arnold part,” he adds, smiling wryly. “I don’t want to know what they would think about…” He waves his hand vaguely.

Connor nods. Any family pious enough to disown their son for straying from the faith would not look kindly on what Elder Price did, no matter how good his intentions.

“What about you?” he asks, tapping Connor’s knee with his own.

“I haven’t talked to my mother yet,” Connor answers quietly. He’s not afraid; she’s a good woman, and she would never… do what Kevin’s parents have done, but… he still doesn’t want her to know. It’s every elder’s worst nightmare to leave their mission early, head hung in shame at not being able to tough it out, but him leaving his mission because of _this_? It’s going to break her heart.

Connor lets go of Kevin’s hand to start wringing his own, anxiously picking at his cuticles. “I need to tell her,” he says. “I… I really want to go home.”

Kevin sighs. “I’ll miss you.”

Connor won’t even let himself think about that. “You’re coming, too,” he replies. “If I go, I won’t let you stay behind.”

“My parents-”

“We’ll work something out.” They’ll have to. Connor refuses to leave without Kevin; he’s not sure he could. And, they can’t stay in Uganda forever. Connor knows he won’t even be able to finish out his mission. But something will work out. Something good will happen eventually, and he and Kevin will be okay, because something _has_ to go right at some point, doesn’t it?

“I’m going to go call her.”

Kevin doesn’t move.

“Kevin, I need to get out of the closet.”

“Connor, what if… are you sure you should tell her so soon? I mean, you just told everyone else today.” He hesitates. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Connor smiles softly, and rests a hand on Kevin’s arm. “Not really,” he says. “But I’d rather get it over with, I think.”

Kevin moves out of the way.

*****

It takes a long time to make a call from Uganda to a United States phone number. For the first three dial tones, Connor is afraid his mom won’t pick up at all. He is only allowed two phone calls a year, and it’s neither Christmas nor Mother’s Day. He bites his lip as the phone continues to ring; gosh, the last time he stood here, he was-

“Hello?”

“Hi, mom.”

“Connor, honey, hey. Are you okay?”

Connor smiles, feeling tears prick at his eyes again. It looks like not turning it off makes for a lot more tears than he was expecting. “I’m, um… I’m okay, yeah. How are you?”

“I’m fine, just picking up your brother from school. We’re almost home. But why are you calling? You’re using up another one of your contacts, you know.”

“Y-yeah, Mom, I know. I… I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

“Oh.” Her voice changes; he knows that tone. She sounded like that when she told him they were all going to take a week off from school to go to his dad’s funeral. “I’m pulling into the driveway, okay, kiddo? Give me just a minute to get inside.”

“Okay.”

There’s frazzled, staticy silence on the other end of the line for a while, and Connor hears the sound of car doors closing, and the kitchen door with its familiar squeak. It sends a wave of homesickness through him so strong his knees almost give out. He hadn’t been homesick at the beginning of his mission; he had turned those feelings right off, along with everything else except pure enthusiasm and force of will, but his boxes are gone now, and the feelings are stronger than he thought they could be.

“Okay, Connor, tell me what’s up,” she says, the squeaking of a settling mattress sounding in the background. “I’ve got all day.”

Connor nods. “Well,” he says, “Mom, I… I told you in my letters that… Uganda is, it’s a little… things are kind of disturbing here?”

“You did.”

“And… and you got the notice about how District Nine was shut down, and I said we were going to stay anyway? And you got the letter about how Elder Price was making reports to him, and that everything was going to- to work out just fine?”

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

Connor presses a hand to his mouth, desperately trying to collect himself. He takes a deep breath. The first part shouldn’t be too hard; it’s probably something she already knew.

“Mom, I’m gay.”

“...oh, _honey_.”

“I know.”

“How… how did you figure it out? What happened over there?”

“I, um…” _had sex with the mission president?_ “I fell in love.”

There’s a moment of silence before her reply, and in that moment he starts to think the worst before she says “Connor, I’m so, so proud of you.”

Those tears start to fall. “You are?”

“Of course, hun, I’m very proud of you. You go all the way to Uganda to spread the word of the Lord, and it sounds like you did some intense personal exploration over there. That’s hard to do, being so far away from home, and that’s very brave. I couldn’t be prouder.”

“...Mom, I did something really bad, too. You… you shouldn’t say you’re proud of me yet.”

“Honey…” she sighs, and he can hear a smile in her voice as she continues, “did you kiss him?”

“No. No, we haven’t… I… I haven’t kissed him.” Out of all the things he’s done, kissing Kevin Price isn’t one of them. “I… it was somebody else.”

“How many people have you had feelings for over there?” she asks, chuckling.

“Just him, Mom.” Connor wipes his eyes, sniffing quickly and hoping he can- well, not really hold himself together, but at least get the important parts of the story out before he’s crying too hard for her to understand what he’s saying. “But… it’s a long story. It’s… it started when we tried to talk to the mission president.”

And he tells her the whole story. He’s actually pretty proud of himself; he only has to stop three times during it: once for when he made his decision, once for when he ran into the storm, and once for the intimate moment when he tried to comfort Kevin after the fifth trip to Kampala. But he makes it through, and he almost feels better by the end. She hasn’t hung up on him, anyway.

“Connor…” she says. He winces; she’s crying, too. “...I don’t know what to say. H- have you seen a doctor?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I saw the doctor the week I got back.”

“When did all this happen?”

“This month.”

She sobs. “Are you going to stay out there?” she asks. “Hun, I don’t know if that’s-”

“No,” he says, “I want to come home.”

“Okay,” she says. The mattress squeaks. “I’m going to look up some flights, right now. How soon do you want to leave? I’ll get you back within a week, if you want. Don’t worry, Connor, you’re going to be okay.”

“I know,” he says, smiling through his tears. “Thanks, Mom.”

There’s the clicking of keys being typed, and he realizes suddenly that she’s serious. “Wait, Mom, there’s… there’s something else.”

“Something else? Baby, what on earth-”

“No, it’s… it’s Kevin. Elder Price. He’s… his parents say they won’t let him stay at home. He doesn’t have anywhere to go, Mom, once he goes back home, and he’s been through even more than me, and…”

“And you want him to come live with us?”

Connor can’t help his gasp. That wasn’t what he was thinking; he was hoping for a couple hundred dollars to give to Kevin, or maybe an invitation to camp out on their couch for a few days. Not…

“You would…?” he asks. “Would that be okay?”

“Do you think I would let his family do that to him and not try to help? Besides, we have Chas’ old room he can stay in.”

“And that’s… we can afford it? It’s… for how long?”

“We’ll make it work, honey. And he can stay as long as he needs to. We’ll make it work.”

“Oh my gosh, Mom, I…” Connor cups the phone to his chest. “Kevin!” he cries. “Kevin, come here!”

Kevin appears in a matter of seconds, brow furrowed in worry. “What’s wrong?” he asks, hurrying to Connor’s side.

“Nothing,” Connor says, “for once, absolutely nothing. Here.” He shoves the phone at him. “Say thank you. I… I can’t right now.”

Connor hightails it to the bathroom to hide as soon as Kevin takes the phone. Gosh, he looks _awful_ , all red eyes and stuffy nose, but… he grabs the rag that serves as their hand towel and hides his face in it. He gets to go _home_ ; he gets to go home with _Kevin_.

Everything’s going to be okay.

*****

It takes almost a month before Connor and Kevin can fly home. They break the news to the elders first, and then the village. They have to face down the mission president one last time to submit their resignations and fill out the paperwork; they may or may not bring along a flask of _lira lira_ Gotswana gives them to get through it. But, after all the farewells are done and hugs given and letters promised and forgiveness exchanged - "Poptarts-" "I'm sorry, Elder McKinley. I..." "It's okay. I think I understand." - Connor and Kevin finally, _finally_ take the bus back to Kampala one last time.

They are both quiet getting through the airport. It’s affecting them more than they thought it would, leaving their friends behind. There is something about Uganda that made everything more vibrant and more genuine than anything Connor has felt before, and there are good memories mixed in with the bad. But the plane arrives; their zone is called, their bags are checked at the gate and they squeeze through the narrow aisles to their seats on the small airplane. It’s going to be a long trip back.

Kevin doesn’t like planes, it turns out. Connor tries everything he knows - holding Kevin’s hand, giving him a hug, humming to him - but nothing helps. He’s at a loss as the plane takes off and Kevin’s hands grip the armrests so hard Connor thinks they might break. But then, he remembers what his mother asked, during their phone call. It’s been nagging him, sitting at the back of his mind: he has never kissed Kevin Price. He’s never kissed anybody, really, but for goodness’ sake, he’s told Kevin that he _loves_ him, and all they’ve done is hold hands. Some people manage to make it to marriage without doing more, but Connor doesn’t feel like abstaining because of rules made by a church that- well. He doesn’t want anything more, just a kiss, to… to make sure, maybe, or to solidify this thing between them. Maybe he just wants it as a promise they’ll stay together. Or maybe he just wants a kiss from his boyfriend, because that’s a normal thing to want, and he’s allowed to. And, well… they’re not in Uganda anymore.

“Kevin,” he says, taking his hand. “Is it okay if… I mean, may I…?”

Kevin gives him a terrified look. “What?”

Connor bites his lip. He’s not going to take this from Kevin without his permission, but… He leans in slowly, giving Kevin plenty of time to pull away. Kevin doesn’t move. And then their lips connect, soft and sweet and nothing really more than that. For a second, Connor isn’t really sure what all the hype is about. But Kevin’s hand goes slack under his grip, and his lips part slightly, and, _gosh_ , Connor’s lips start to tingle something fierce, and he pulls back a little breathless.

Kevin’s eyes flutter open, and he sends Connor a dazed and annoyed look.

“I can’t believe,” he says, “that our first kiss was on a _plane_.”

Connor laughs in shaky relief, pushing the armrest out of the way so he can lean up against him. He can’t believe that this is actually happening; that he’s with  _Kevin Price_ , and they’re actually going home. He’s _in love_.

And yes, he had to go through hell to get there, but… but he survived. He made it to the other side, and so did Kevin. They have a place to come home to. That’s all anybody can ask, sometimes.

Connor smiles softly, giving Kevin’s hand a squeeze. Sometimes the truth doesn’t look the way you expect it to, but it stays the truth just the same, and Connor McKinley is blessed.

_Ma ha nei bu, Eebowai._

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by And Your Mission Location Is... (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9622339/1/And-Your-Mission-Location-Is) on ff.net. I would recommend reading it before the beginning of Kevin's POV in part 1 or at the end of that part. 
> 
> Triggers: unsafe sex (both oral and anal), trading sex for privileges, sexual harassment, abuse, fear of STDs, nausea and vomiting, anxiety, starving oneself, physical violence, emotional and sexual repression, arguments, unhealthy coping, and thunderstorms.
> 
> Now for actual notes... Um... This is pretty cracktastic? I'm sorry for that. But the idea just wouldn't leave my head.  
> Feel free to ask any questions or leave any comments you want!


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